


Because of Stiles

by maggsam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, abandon all hope ye who enter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 07:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 42,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggsam/pseuds/maggsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She picked up on the first ring. One moment she had been dreaming, the next her phone was in her hand and she was breathing in short bursts out her nose. She just knew, somehow. And as soon as Scott's voice filled the other line, she felt the pit of dread bloom in her hollow stomach.<br/>"Lydia? Lydia it's Scott. Listen...you need to come home. It's-it's Stiles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She picked up on the first ring.

One moment she had been dreaming, the next her phone was in her hand and she was breathing in short bursts out her nose. She just knew, somehow. And as soon as Scott's voice filled the other line, she felt the pit of dread bloom in her hollow stomach.

"Lydia? Lydia it's Scott. Listen...you need to come home. It's-it's Stiles."

She looked over at the clock on her nightstand, blaring a red 2:47 AM into the darkness of her bedroom.

"I'll catch the next flight." She murmured, and Scott breathed a thank you before she hung up.

Swiftly, she swung her bare legs out of bed, and turned on her bedside table lamp. A voice groaned from the mountain of silk bedding.

"Babe? What's going on?"

"I have to go home." She spoke, primly pulling a large suitcase out of her closet.

A naked man propped himself up on his elbows, looking at her with bleary eyes.

"Now?"

"Yes now." She snapped, as she threw in several pairs of Louboutin's and Christian Lacroix.

"And where is home, exactly?" He asked in a husky voice.

"Beacon Hills, California."

"That's right. Your accent is so good, I forgot you were American." He rubbed a hand over his face.

" _Merci_." She smirked. "Listen Louis, I hate to have you hit the road at 3 AM, but you know how it is darling." She said swiftly, as she pranced around the room, tossing brightly colored garments into her bag on the floor.

"My name is Daniel." He muttered.

"Of course it is darling." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Au revoir, my love. See you when I return."

He climbed out of her bed, pulling the sheets up to barely cover his lower half, and sauntered behind her, arms snaking around her waist.

"And when will that be, Lydia?" He whispered in her ear.

Truthfully, she had no idea if or when she would ever return to Paris. That all depended on one thing, one person. Last time she left Beacon Hills, she promised to herself she would never return. But the years had passed, and she felt the slow burn to return. Sometimes she would wake up to it, covering her lungs and making it hard to breathe. Sometimes, she would see their faces on the train. Whenever a dog barked, she still jumped.

And sometimes, late at night...when she had too much to drink, and was completely alone for once...she would put her palm over her heart and listen to it pound. And she would allow herself to think of him then, but only for a moment.

Lydia quickly cleared her throat.

"Not sure but I'll let you know, Louis." She kissed his cheek, handed him his clothes, and ushered him out of the door.

"It's Daniel!" He huffed, before the door was slammed in his face.

* * *

 

"Excuse me? Mimosa, and a vodka. On the rocks." Lydia instructed the flight attendant, before settling into the plush first-class airplane seat.

"Nervous flyer, dearie?" A white haired woman crooned from across the aisle.

Lydia gave a brief, tight-lipped smile in response. Flying was nothing compared to the real terrors she had been through in her life. The truth was, it was returning to Beacon Hills which gave her anxiety. She couldn't help the nagging sensation of dread that was pulling at her heart. She tried to squash it with the Bloody Mary that was already in her shaking hand. Hopefully she would be successfully inebriated by the time she landed in LAX, at least enough to take the edge off seeing Stiles again.

_Stiles._

She tossed the rest of her drink back.

* * *

 

Thirty minutes before the landing, Scott called.

"Hey, just wanted you to know that we're here, -And we can't wait to see you!" She heard Allison shout in the background, and for the first time since 3 AM, she cracked a smile.

"I can't wait to see you both."

"We love you, Lydia. We'll get through this. All of us."

* * *

 

Allison flung her body into Lydia's arms. Lydia could feel her shaking, and tried to ignore the fact that it was because she was silently crying.

"I'm so glad you're here! It's been how long?"

"Almost four years." She answered, willing her own voice not to shake.

"I can't believe I haven't seen you in four years. Let me take a look at you." She drew back, and cupped Lydia's face in her hands.

"You're even more beautiful than when I last saw you! How is that possible?!" Allison laughed, her eyes still watery.

"I could say the same for you!" Lydia laughed.

Allison's hair had remained the same since high school, but long gone were the high school frocks. She dressed like a woman now. And Lydia noticed with a shock that she held a hand under a slightly protruding belly.

"Surprise!" Scott smiled, and gave Lydia a one armed hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"You? You're having a..a-"

"Baby!" They exclaimed together.

"Come on," Scott smiled, picking up her luggage. "We'll explain in the car!"

The drive from LAX to Beacon Hills was a couple of hours, so they filled the time by playing catch up as Lydia watched the forrest reserves blur by.

After high school graduation, the pack had all went their separate ways. Lydia had flown to England to attend Oxford University, and was currently working on her Doctorate in Paris. Scott had gone to a local community college to major in physical education, while Allison attended UCLA to study history, with an emphasis in folklore.

"So Allison and I just graduated, and we only found out she was pregnant like, two weeks ago."

"I thought it was the terrible college diet!" Allison laughed. And Lydia laughed along with her.

"Still can't believe you're going to be Dr. Martin soon. Lydia, you're only twenty-one. That's insane. We're all so proud of you." Allison said, reaching behind her to clasp Lydia's hand.

"That's nothing compared to the journey you two are about to have." Lydia said, squeezing her hand. "Tell me everything!"

"Well, we were visiting each other back and forth, and you know. It just kind of happened."

"It was a surprise," Scott explained, "But we couldn't be more thrilled. We just told my mom and her dad the other day, and we're all pretty psyched."

"And I know why you're glancing at my left hand." Allison smirked at her. "Baby first, ring second. We just want to have one thing at a time on our plate."

"Well I couldn't be more happy, for both of you." Lydia smiled so hard she cracked her jaw.

It was incredible, seeing her friends growth all at once. Scott had gotten even taller, and if it was possible, filled out even more. He smiled just as frequently as he did when she knew him in high school, but she did notice how they didn't quite reach his eyes.

She knew the reason why.

"So we're all living in the same apartment building. Scott and I have our own flat, and then Derek is above us, with the rest of the pack. And Stiles and Malia are living below us." Scott said casually, and Allison gave him a swift jab in the ribs.

"Oh-uh, sorry." Scott muttered sheepishly, throwing Lydia an apologetic look.

"For what?" Lydia laughed, and she felt it echo all the way down her hollow cavern of a chest.

"Nothing. We just know that it can be a bit difficult to talk about Stiles for you." Allison said sympathetically.

"It's not." Lydia waved her hand. "That was years ago. We'll always be good friends."

"Well, I suppose now is as good of a time as any. You know he's the reason we called you here." Allison said.

"After we all graduated, Malia still wasn't warming up to school. So she dropped out, but is currently working on her GED. Which, you know, is progress." Scott chuckled, and Lydia smirked, remembering that word frequenting any and all conversations about Malia.

"And Stiles," Scott continued, "got scholarships like, everywhere. He's so damn clever."

"Brilliant, really." Allison interjected.

"He always wanted to be a Beacon Hills sheriff or detective, like his dad. But he was getting all these amazing opportunities to go anywhere and study law enforcement. So he was at Columbia for a bit, but then, uh…" Scott trailed off.

"Lydia," Allison turned to her in the back seat. "Do you know why we need your help?"

She almost couldn't bring herself to say it, but it slipped out of her mouth before she could have the chance to process it.

"Frontotemporal Dementia." She whispered, and Allison and Scott gave each other a look.

"It's what his mom died from, and it's showing up even earlier in him than her's did. Last time he had an MRI was when we were in high school, and he was possessed by the Nogitsune. We initially thought the symptoms were side effects of the possession. So we stupidly dismissed them." Scott shook his head.

"But then," Allison interrupted, "we began receiving strange phone calls from him. He would be talking about school, and then he would say things that wouldn't make sense. I just brushed it off, thinking it was long-distance miscommunication. Then he sent Scott a letter in the mail."

"His handwriting was terrible. You know how it's usually pretty decent? Meticulous even? Well this looked like a six year old wrote it. Total chicken scratch. I'm surprised the post office could even read the address. I could barely understand his handwriting." Scott explained. "And when he came home for the holidays this past year, he looked really terrible. Like he did when he was possessed by the Nogitsune. Pale, dark circles. He could barely hold a fork without shaking. We thought school was just exhausting for him."

"That was until," Allison spoke, "he went back to New York, and was supposed to fly home for Easter. But he didn't. He didn't come home at all. They...someone found him face down in an alley. He couldn't even tell them who he was."

Lydia fought the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. It was all so horrible, and yet, she understood completely and expectantly, as if she had heard it all before. But now all of her dread and suspicions were confirmed. Stiles was in danger. And this time it wasn't from the Benefactor, or a demon spirit, or even the supernatural at all. It was from himself.

"Look," Scott sighed. "When we all went to Beacon Hills, we were battling the supernatural every day. Since we've left, everything has gotten better. I'm not sure if we were the ones attracting all that trouble, but these past few years when something came up, Derek and his pack handled it. And it's been working. Beacon Hills has its bumps, but it was nothing near as bad as when we were in high school. I know we're asking a lot of you, but we might have to go back to the way it was. We may have to contact some old enemies. We may have to search for improbable cures. We may have to put our lives in danger again. And we need your help." Scott pleaded. "We need your help because I promised Stiles that I would do everything I could to save him. But no one, not even me, would probably be as beneficial to finding the cure as you are. We need you."

Lydia paused, collecting a breath. She knew what this meant. She knew the prices and the consequences, and she knew what would happen if she said yes. But still, she replied without a shred of hesitation.

"You have me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are phenomenal! The feedback I'm already getting is amazing. I'll be posting about a chapter a day as I've written up to 7 chapters on ff.net of this story. If you're eager to read more, check out my account there under the same author name--maggsam.
> 
> Thanks again! Can't express how excited your likes and reviews make me! I was giggling like a lunatic all day!

Beacon Hills was just as she remembered. Small town, trees everywhere, and the unshakable feeling of loss. The only faces she cared about now were those who protected her in high school, and who she had protected in return. Her mother sold the house after Lydia graduated and moved in with a wealthy businessman. She was currently somewhere on a beach in Costa Rica. Lydia liked to think of her with a margarita in one hand, swathed in diamonds, while she was being fanned with a giant palm by a hot cabana boy. She would smile to herself whenever the image came up in her mind.

Other than her family's own personal development, and the development in her friend's lives, she was fairly certain nothing about Beacon Hills had changed. It was strange how a little less than four years seemed like both an eternity and yet, nothing at all.

They pulled up to the apartment complex, and Scott quickly hopped out of the car and ran around to Allison's passenger door, helping her down.

"I'm not THAT pregnant." Allison laughed, but it was clear she found it endearing.

Lydia gazed up at the complex, boasting gothic styled architecture.

"It's so...werewolfy." She laughed.

"Totally." Allison smirked. "I swear those were my exact words when we all moved in too."

"Lydia," Scott said, taking her suitcase out of the back seat. "Jesus, did you fill this with bricks?"

"No. Anvils."

"Ha. Ha. Now, you'll be staying in our guest bedroom. Is that alright?"

"It's perfect."

It was better than staying with Derek. Or, heaven forbid, with Malia and Stiles. She could just imagine it now. Malia walking around with no clothes on, Malia burning breakfast. Malia howling as she and Stiles-

"Yes, yes it's perfect." She snapped, desperately wanting to end that train of thought.

"Great." Allison said, swinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Welcome home!"

* * *

 

She wasn't sure how long she stood in the shower. Maybe if she stayed in long enough, she could completely avoid going to the floor below, where she would find Malia. And Stiles. Stiles-beautiful, spastic, and...sick.

Scott had explained to her that he was taking medication now and going to scheduled doctors visits. He would appear to be pretty well functioning.

"But he's not." He had said. "He's not well functioning. Although, he seems to be doing a little better than lying in an alleyway in New York City."

"And he has Malia." Allison said. "She cares for him, takes him to appointments, cooks for him. But we're there every day, too. Keeping him company, cleaning. Doing whatever needs to be done. So is Derek's pack."

"You're just the missing puzzle piece." Scott smiled, as he put down her luggage in their pretty pale blue spare bedroom, and they left her to freshen up before going downstairs.

Missing puzzle piece. She fought the urge to laugh bitterly.

She was more than just a missing puzzle piece. Her relationship with Stiles had once been so much more than that. She begrudgingly reached out to twist the handle and turn the shower off. It seemed as if this reunion was unavoidable. Even if it was four years in the making. It wasn't as if she hated Stiles. Oh no, it definitely wasn't hate that was bright, and smoldering in her body. But the way they last left off...their last words...she didn't think she had the strength to see him again.

Steam clouded the bathroom, and she wrapped a towel around herself and wiped off the mirror above the sink.

Had she herself changed much since high school? Her hair was still a romantic shade of red, falling down her back in soft curls. Her long, thick lashes still framed her big green eyes. Too big, she thought. Stiles had once called them luminous. Color bloomed on her cheekbones.

Her whole life, people had called her beautiful. Men would stop and watch her, and she often used her looks to manipulate into getting what she wanted. She was called sexy more times than kind or creative or brilliant. No one had seen those facets of her. No one except…

She wanted to jump out of a window.

"This is not going to be easy, Lydia." She spoke to her reflection, and sucked her plush lower lip into her mouth, deep dimples appearing beneath her cheekbones.

What would Stiles say? How would he react to seeing her? How has four years changed him? And how baldy was his frontotemporal dementia? How on earth could she help find a cure? She had been trying to squash her banshee powers since she left Beacon Hills. What if there was nothing she could do?

There were so many times Lydia thought she would lose Stiles for good. So many times that together, they faced death. But he had escaped every time. It seemed cruel that now, when life was just beginning, he might already be facing the end.

* * *

 

"Ready?" Allison asked, knocking at the door.

"No." She replied glumly.

Her hair was dry, she had put on new clothes and minimal make up, but she didn't think she'd ever be 'ready.'

Allison walked across the room to sit down on the bed, and threw her arm over Lydia's shoulders. She did that a lot, and it gave Lydia comfort every time.

"What are you going to name it?" She asked, softly laying her hand on Allison's bump.

"Not sure. We're still going through a huge book of baby names. Do you have an idea?"

"Stiles and I always liked the name Claudia." She whispered, and for the first time since arriving, tears sprung to her eyes.

"Oh Lydia." Allison hugged her tightly. "It's going to be okay. And he's so excited to see you! He's been talking about today non-stop. He's already called our apartment twice since you've been in the shower."

"He doesn't hate me?"

"How could he?!" Allison laughed. "You're his anchor."

* * *

 

She let Scott and Allison enter in first, and followed slowly behind.

The apartment looked just like theirs. High ceilings, wooden floors, and minimal decor.

"Hey!" She heard Malia exclaim before she saw her.

Warm arms were thrown over her shoulders and dark blonde hair whipped her face.

"This might sound weird, but I actually, like, missed you!" Malia growled into her shoulder.

But Lydia didn't hear a word. Lydia couldn't even summon the strength to hug her back, because there he was.

Sitting on the couch, eyes locked with hers. He was as beautiful and sad as she remembered. He was wearing dark sweatpants and a tee shirt with a red hoodie. His hair was sticking up at odd frontal angles, also like she remembered. She could see sweat beading on his pale forehead, but he looked present. His red-rimmed eyes weren't clouded. They were focused and practically burning a hole into her own. She found herself holding her breath.

"Hey Malia." She finally said, returning the hug, and looking at her for the first time in years.

It was like she hadn't aged a day. Eternally seventeen.

"How did you get hotter?" She cracked, and Lydia graced her with a tight-lipped smile.

"You know Stiles?" Scott joked awkwardly, gesturing to the couch.

Stiles rose and began to walk toward her. She met him halfway, before being completely engulfed in his embrace.

He was taller than she recalled, and although she could feel his body had filled out with more muscle, the hug lacked strength. He buried his head in her shoulder.

"Lydia." He whispered, and she thought she might faint.

"Hey Stiles."

* * *

 

He hadn't let go of her hand since they had first embraced. Even now, when they were all eating dinner together, he held it tightly in his own, underneath the table. If Malia noticed, she pretended not to.

She could barely look at him half of the time, but it seemed like he was always looking at her, as if she could disappear at any moment. She supposed this was justified.

"Lydia, can I see you for a moment?" He asked after the meal was finished, and she gave a curt nod.

"Aww fuck do I have to do the dishes again?" Malia whined behind them as he guided her into his bedroom and shut the door.

Large mechanical machines whizzed and beeped by his bedside. She recognized one of them as a sleep apnea machine, and beside it, a tall pole from which iv therapy bags hung. The room was pretty devoid of all warmth and clutter.

"Clean room." She remarked awkwardly, and Stiles scoffed.

"Thanks. I make the bed everyday, but I get a little winded sometimes. So Allison will come down and do laundry or clean up anything off the floor."

He guided her to sit on his bed, and then took her hands into his own.

"Four years." He said, staring into her eyes. She fought to maintain eye contact.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "It's...it's been hard for me."

"You don't think it hasn't been for me?" He asked, his eyes beginning to swim.

"I try not to think about that." She answered, hanging her head. Of course it was hard for him. It was never easy for Stiles. Never, never, never.

"Look, it's okay. We can get past this. We've always gotten through it before. Let's just...let's just go back to how it was."

"Okay." Lydia agreed, although she was certain they both knew it would never, ever be the same. Maybe they weren't supposed to be how they were when they were teenagers, and everything hurt so badly.

But nothing had changed. Not really. Even though they were older, she still felt as deeply as she did when she was seventeen, and every unsaid word was a raw and open wound.

"I'm so glad you're here." He smiled for the first time.

"Me too." And she smiled back. "How is your dad doing with all of this?"

"Not well." Stiles answered truthfully. "I think he might be drinking a bit again. He's just sad. He has to relive it all over again."

"Not for long." Lydia said, gripping his shoulder. "I'm here. And I'm going to help. We're going to find a cure." She said confidently, faking it for both of their benefit.

He looked over at her with a smirk, knowingly. He always knew.

"Listen Lyd, this isn't going to be a good thing. We're revisiting some old pasts that should remain buried. It has the potential to be really dangerous. And I'm scared. I can't fight, Allison and Scott have a baby on the way, and you'll have the entire weight of the mission on your shoulders. I need your help in convincing Scott to just let it go."

"You know I can't do that. We won't do that." Lydia said fiercely.

"You have to. I don't care anymore. I don't feel well. I see things. I can't sleep." Stiles muttered, resting his head in his hands.

There was a pregnant pause, and Lydia's eyes blurred as she stared unblinkingly at the back of his head.

"There is no shame in dying." He whispered quietly, and that was all it took for Lydia to feel herself shatter into a million irreparable shards.

"There is shame in not even trying." She spat harshly.

How could he talk like that? As if he had nothing to live for? Like if he died, she wouldn't go out of her freaking mind.

"See that's the problem with you. You don't care about being hurt. But you know how I'll feel? I'll be devastated. Death doesn't happen to you, it happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're going to live the rest of their lives now without you in it." She raged.

Stile's head snapped up.

"A friend said that to me, and it's never left me. I think you could use his words of wisdom." She glared.

"Y-you remembered when I said that?" He stared in disbelief.

"When it comes to you, I remember everything." She said, getting up and walking to the door.

"Why didn't you stay, huh?" Stiles raised his voice, eyes flaring. "Huh? How come you didn't stay after that night?"

She knew this would come up eventually, just not this soon. She had tried for so long to bury that night deep into her subconscious. But here it was. All her flaws and mistakes being unearthed and brushed off, and placed on a shelf to look at for always.

"It doesn't look like it would have changed anything, anyway." She spoke quietly, hand still on the door knob.

" _Everything_ , Lydia!" Stiles yelled, hands pulling and twisting his brown hair in frustration. "It would have changed everything!"

"Do you still sleep with Malia?" She spat suddenly.

The answer to her question was written all over his shocked expression. It was all she needed to find the strength to open the door and slam it behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are absolutely amazing! So close to 500 hits in only a few days! Pretty sure that's more than my ff.net account ever got, and it's been up there since October! Haha. (My most popular story is a Hunger Games fic, and I don't think the Teen Wolf fandom gets much foot traffic over there. I do think I'll just save AO3 for Teen Wolf fics. If your curious to read my other fics though, feel free to check them out under author name maggsam). 
> 
> Seriously, can't thank you guys enough. It's so amazing to see all of your feedback! On a related note, I'm so glad Teen Wolf is filming season 5! This hiatus is killing me, although hopefully this will give the writers a chance to get their shit together and oh...idk...WRITE A BETTER STORY LINE FOR LYDIA MARTIN?! NOT TO MENTION STYDIA BECOMING CANON?!!?!! Just wishful thinking here.

The pain was overwhelming, but even more powerful than her pain was the all-encompassing guilt that flooded her cheeks and sunk her heart to her toes. Stiles...wonderful, sarcastic, dying Stiles. Everything was so wrong, so completely fucked.

She stormed quickly to the front door, and Allison was suddenly beside her, squeezing her shoulder. Her eyes searched Lydia's own, knowingly. But now was not the time, first she had to get out of this apartment.

"Wait!" Malia cried, chasing Lydia to the doorway. "You forgot something. Please, for the love of God, take her."

Lydia grabbed it before she even registered what it was. And then it hit her like a brick wall.

"W-what?" she stammered, blinking the tears and frustration from her vision to focus on the ball of fluff wiggling in her arms.

"It's Prada!" Scott exclaimed, and Lydia's concentration immediately snapped back into the present.

It was Prada. Wiggling, snorting excitedly.

"Oh my God! What?! How…?"

"Your mom didn't want to take her to Costa Rica. She was going to give her to the local shelter, since it was your dog and all."

"And I can see why. That dog is Satan." Malia remarked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"I told Stiles no way, but when does he ever listen to what I say anymore?"

Lydia's head shot up. What did Stiles have to do with her childhood Pomeranian?

"When Stiles heard your mom was selling the house and moving, he went over to say goodbye. She told him about Prada and he said he'd hold onto her for you." Allison said, softly.

"It's been four years since my mom moved." she whispered back.

"Longest four years of my fucking life." Malia groaned.

Lydia didn't know what was worst. That her mom tried to give away her dog without letting her know, or that she wasn't surprised that Stiles took her at all. This was totally something that Stiles would do. Hold onto a dog that wasn't his just because he knew how much it meant to her.

"I-I need to lie down." she said, running a hand across her forehead.

"Yeah, yeah of course." Allison murmured, turning her to head out the door.

Lydia threw one last look over her shoulder, and saw him slumped on his bedroom door frame, watching. Always, always watching.

She couldn't look at him for another moment.

* * *

 

"Pretty exhausting day, huh?" Allison asked, sitting across from her on the bed.

They were both in pajamas, Allison's hair wet and fresh from the shower. A pint of Ben and Jerry's sat between them, with two spoons jutting out of the creamy surface.

Exhausting was one word for it.

"I'm so, so glad you're here, Lyd. We all are."

"It feels really good to be here." She smiled, taking a particularly large chunk of ice cream out of the cardboard container.

"So...are we going to talk about the elephant in the room or what?"

"What elephant?" Lydia asked, bringing her hand up over her eyebrows and pretending to search the guest bedroom.

She had known they would discuss this eventually, and secretly she was dying for someone to talk to about it. She didn't have any friends in Europe. Girls were envious of her, and the men she slept with were temporary at best. The only person she ever could confide in was in the apartment below, probably sleeping peacefully in the arms of someone he loved.

She suddenly felt like she would puke.

"Come on, it's me." Allison said sympathetically, patting her knee.

"What would you like to know? The fact that I lost the only person who ever truly understood and accepted me? Or that I drove him to it?"

"We all know you didn't 'drive him to it,' Lydia. What happened graduation night, it was shit. It was. But no one blames you for anything. And I'm pretty sure it's still a secret."

"Malia still doesn't know?" she questioned, chewing her bottom lip.

"Malia isn't an idiot, but you know how she is. She can be a little...indifferent...when it comes to things that don't directly affect her."

"So the fact that I slept with her boyfriend didn't 'directly affect' her?" Lydia grumbled self loathingly.

Allison just gave her a noncommittal shrug, and said, "Pass the Chunky Monkey."

* * *

 

Lydia remembered every detail, down to the dress she was wearing, and the shade of her nail polish, Lilacism. She remembered what he was wearing too, a button down in a shade of blue that brought out his amber eyes. And she remembered the taste of the beer as she took a last swig for courage. Her parties were known for being Beacon Hill's epic blowouts, and this graduation party was the last party she would throw. Her swan song.

The music pounded, and she felt the heat of bodies jostling against her. Grinding and laughing and drinking. They had just graduated hours ago, and after family dinners and lots of cap and gown photos, the senior class had all gathered together one last time. And it was a rager. Lights flashed, cheers from a beer pong win carried over the thudding of a bass line, and darkness allowed them to lose their inhibitions. Someone came up behind her and touched her hips, snaking their way slowly to squeeze her breasts. She let it happen, but only briefly, before swatting the hand away, not bothering to look behind her and see who it was.

She only had eyes for one person tonight.

People were pushing, she felt herself begin to sweat from the body heat, but still she looked and looked. He was probably gone. Probably no where to be found. She could just picture him in some corner by himself, picking up random household items to inspect them. Or drumming his constantly moving fingers on the balcony of the back porch.

Hands touched her once more, and she finally decided to give in and just enjoy the moment. The crowd swelled, and she began to feel dizzy.

How long had it been that she'd been dancing? She was certain that four different men had been dancing with her at one point. She was being touched and gawked at and it all felt good. This was her party, after all, and she was enjoying herself. Lydia Martin, queen bee forever. But still, something felt missing.

Suddenly, someone was being pushed off her, and then new hands were placed on her hips, and her hair was being brushed over one shoulder.

"Lydia." he whispered into her neck, and she pushed back on him and felt his groan travel down her spine. He had found her.

She turned to face him, throwing her arms over his neck. He was clearly as drunk as she was, hair disheveled and eyes both piercing and sleepy. She cupped her hand to his cheek, and drew her thumb over his lips.

"I've been trying to find you all night." she slurred, and he grinned.

"I know."

Of course he knew.

They danced for what seemed like both minutes and hours. Slow songs where they rested their foreheads against each other. Fast songs where he spun her around to grip her hips, and push his pelvis into her backside. Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they moaned, but always, they were introspective. Absorbing everything they could about each other, not wanting any moment to go to waste.

"Remember when we danced at formal?" he breathed into her ear.

Of course she remembered. She remembered feeling prickly and disappointed that she was not attending with Jackson.

'Oh if only.' She thought. If only she knew at that time, that Jackson was only a fraction of the man that Stiles was. And then there was the traumatizing moment when Peter had tried to turn her into a werewolf, but she preferred to keep that part of the night dead and buried.

"I was a bitch." she groaned, turning her head to his face.

"Yeah!" he laughed, and she couldn't help but throw her head back and laugh with him.

"I'm really glad we're dancing now." He smiled sleepily, and she turned to throw her arms over his shoulders and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Let's get out of here." she murmured, and wasn't surprised when he nodded in agreement.

* * *

 

When she rang Sheriff Stalinski's doorbell, she wasn't surprised he didn't answer it. She was preparing to find the worst. She pushed the lit button once more. Finally, the doorknob turned and there he was, standing in a wrinkled uniform with five o'clock shadow, red-rimmed eyes, and smelling of whiskey.

"Lydia?!" he exclaimed, with equal parts apprehension and excitement.

"Howdy, Sheriff." she smiled, and threw her arms over his broad shoulders.

"Care for some breakfast?" she winked, shaking a paper bag in one hand, and a venti dark roast coffee in the other. He was putty in her hands.

"I can't believe you still remember I take my coffee black." he laughed, turning the cup in his palms. "It's been a while, huh?"

"Mmhmm." she nodded, "four years, to be exact."

"Does, uh..does Stiles know you're here?"

"Well, I am staying in the apartment right above his!" she laughed in attempt to hid the sting.

"Oh great. How, uh, is he, um, doing?" Sheriff questioned, scratching his scalp anxiously.

Lydia turned to look out the kitchen window. Everything was like she remembered. Same furniture, paint. Same plaid armchair that the Sheriff sat in every night before bed. Same sunny windows.

The only thing that wasn't the same was now he was alone in the house. And maybe soon, he would be alone in the world.

"Oh he's great. In great spirits, eating like a horse, taking nightly walks after dinner."

Okay so she had made those last two things up, but the Sheriff probably needed to hear them more than they needed to be true.

"Come over with me. I'll drive." Lydia offered. She already knew what his answer would be.

"Oh no, I couldn't. I've got a lot to do today at the office. I should actually go and get ready." he stood, and paused halfway through the kitchen doorway.

"Feel free to hang around, or you know. Stiles' room is open." he finished, and she suddenly understood he knew so much more about her than she assumed he did. Her eyes prickled uncomfortably, and she looked down, still trying to sound chipper as she thanked him.

His room was exactly the same, just like the house. However, she realized with a start that no one had entered since he left. His books spilled about, his bed was unmade, and he still had some clothes on the floor. The air felt so, so heavy. She wasn't sure if it was her Banshee senses giving her vibes, or it was just the way a house feels inside when someone's heart breaks endlessly over and over again. She lifted her foot to take a step inside, but never put it down.

This was a sacred place, a secret place. And it needed to be left alone to grieve.

She closed the door.

 

 

On her way out, she stopped back into the kitchen, opening every cabinet. She found them under the sink. She debated pouring them all down the drain, or watering them down. But both options felt wrong. So instead she took some post it notes out of her purse and wrote a message, placing them on each bottle.

She hoped they would do the trick.

* * *

 

It was only 8 am when she returned to the apartment complex. She was still acclimating back to the American time schedule, and found Allison and Scott bleary eyed at their kitchen table.

"Wow, you're up early!" Scott smiled, "Where'dya go?"

"The Stilinski house."

Scott and Allison exchanged a look.

"Oh yeah?" Allison asked tentatively.

"Just dropped off breakfast and caught up with the Sheriff. Hopefully he comes over sometime this week."

"Oh Lydia," Allison said sympathetically. "He hasn't been over since Stiles was diagnosed and we all moved here."

Lydia just shrugged.

"I think it's time to go make breakfast." Scott got up, stretching yawning and stretching his arms over his head. He and Allison were still in their pajamas, but Lydia was already dressed and ready for the day.

The three of them made their way to the next floor down. Scott knocked on the door, and slowly turned the doorknob. As soon as he turned it, she was immediately struck with a wave of fear. She quickly sucked in a breath, and as Scott swung the door open, a buzzing noise filled the apartment.

Scott sprung to action, running across the foyer, screaming Stiles' name. So many things seemed to happen at once. Allison following his lead, Malia, slowly rising to her elbows on the living room couch, covered by a blanket and blinking away sleep.

"What's going on?" She groaned.

Lydia didn't feel herself move, but one minute she was frozen in the doorway, the next she was watching Scott perform CPR on Stiles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed some changes in formatting with the previous chapters. Sorry about that, I'm still tinkering with this site and figuring it out!  
> Also, a BIG thanks to Yasmeen77 and Ashley Naomi for liking, following, and adding me onto their fav stories/authors list on ff.net! You girls rock! 
> 
> Enjoy! xx

 

 

They were happy when she was a child. In the mornings, she would get up early with her mother. Dew would adorn the grass, and the birds were just waking. Together, they would pick plump raspberries from the bushes in their backyard, and would put them into fluffy golden pancake batter to be devoured as breakfast. That was probably Lydia's favorite childhood memory. The three of them, laughing and eating raspberry pancakes. Sucking the sweet maple syrup off of her fingertips. Her parents with hands entwined on the table top. That was their last moment.

 

He left the next day. Packed up and left without a notice, a reason, a goodbye. There was a period of time where she thought he might have died, but he re-appeared on her thirteenth birthday years later. He stopped in to give her a gift, and apologized for leaving years ago. He promised to visit more often, kissed her forehead and gave her a Cartier diamond bracelet, told her to stop crying so hard, and then left again. Just there one moment, and gone the next. He came back when it was convenient, and left when he was through. Later that night, as a newly thirteen year old, she lost her virginity.

Everything changed when her father left. There was no raspberry picking in the early morning light. Her mother stopped cooking, and started sleeping in past noon. Lydia watched men entering and leaving her mother's bedroom for years. Eventually she understood what that meant, but it never bothered her. She was starting to understand that was the way of life. Use what you can, and discard what weighs you down, before you're the one that is discarded. That is the way of life. Things and people being used until there purpose was served. She thought of biology, and how humans are classified as consumers. Consuming and consuming while giving nothing in return, until the body rots back into the earth, and another consumer is born. That is the way of life.

And Lydia consumed, and consumed, and consumed.

* * *

 

"Stiles!" Scott screamed, and struck his face forcefully. "Stiles, please!"

_Pump, pump, pump._  Three chest compressions. He closed off his nose and pushed air into his lungs with his own breath.

He repeated this three times, but Stiles looked just as pale as ever. Scott looked over to Lydia fearfully, tears streaking his cheeks. But she had no urge to scream. Her horror crashed over her in overwhelming waves, but she found herself moving forward to his still body, placing her forehead delicately to Stiles' own.

_**Come back to me, Stiles.** _

"Oh thank God!" Allison shrieked, and then Lydia heard it. Stiles was sucking in breath so hungrily, Lydia could practically feel her own lungs burning.

Scott was openly crying on top of him, Allison had thrown her arms around him, stroking his hair. But he was looking into her eyes, and she was looking into his.

The four of them stayed like that for what seemed like both minutes and hours, until Scott turned to look at Malia, cowering in the doorway.

"Why!" he bellowed fiercely. "How the fuck did this happen?!"

Malia's eyes were red and she was clearly distraught.

"It's all my fault!" she wailed. "I'm so sorry! I was tired, and I forgot to give him his nightly shots and medication. And I didn't hear the machine beeping!"

"Stiles stopped breathing, Malia! Who knows how long he wasn't breathing?! What if we hadn't come in just then?! What if you were sleeping for hours while he was dead?!" Scott screamed, a vein pulsing in his neck. Lydia had never heard him raise his voice like that.

Malia burst into tears, her hands covering her face.

"Scott!" Allison barked, and crossed the room to embrace Malia. "It was an accident. We don't blame you Malia, this is a lot for anyone to take on."

"Get her out of here!" Scott spat, dismissing her presence with a wave of his hand. Allison looked to Lydia, motioning her to follow them with her a jerk of her head.

She turned to look at back at Stiles, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. And without thinking too much about it, she delicately brushed her lips against his, before exiting the room.

* * *

 

"I'm the worst girlfriend ever. I literally killed my boyfriend!" Malia sniffed. Her hands trembled as she held a steaming mug of chamomile tea. "Never in my life have I heard Scott scream at anyone like that. And to have it be directed to me? I deserve it."

"No, you don't." Lydia shook her head, and moved the blanket more securely over Malia's narrow shoulders.

"That's crazy that you didn't hear the machine beeping. Scary, for both of you!" Allison remarked, rubbing her shoulder. "Why weren't you in bed with him?"

"The machines make whirring noises, and their blinking lights keep me up at night. And... we've, uh...we've been arguing lately." Malia said quietly. Lydia suddenly felt as if she were intruding on a moment she shouldn't be a part of.

"Hey, it's alright." Allison said. "Everyone fights, and shit just happens. No one blames you."

"Scott does." Malia said bitterly.

"Maybe...maybe this is a little too much for you to handle on your own. Maybe Stiles should be in a hospital." Lydia said, although she knew it was fruitless. Stiles would refuse to waste his life away in a hospital. He had always joked that he would rather go deep into the woods and put a bullet in his brain than spend his final days in a hospital bed.

"We could all move down in here." Allison suggested. "Or we could divvy up more chores. Give you less on your plate, so you don't feel as overwhelmed."

Malia paused for a moment to consider, before she let out a shaky breath and hung her head.

"I-I can't do this." she whispered. "It's too much."

Allison and Lydia exchanged a look.

"You just have to, Malia." Allison murmured, her eyes darting to the closed bedroom door to be sure no one would hear.

"You can't abandon him." Lydia whispered fiercely. "He needs you!"

"Does he?!" Malia spat, head shooting up to glare at her. Her eyes drilled a hole into Lydia's own, and she flushed knowing the weight behind those words. Her glare practically screamed,  _I know_.  _I know everything._

* * *

 

Scott stuffed another pair of pajama pants into the duffle bag, and then looked over at Stiles, weakly pulling a shirt over his head.

"Almost ready?"

"Yeah." He croaked.

"Stiles, I'm getting the chair."

"God, no! It's bad enough I'm going to the hospital in the first place!" Stiles growled.

"Too bad man. You're really pale, and I don't want to risk anything." Scott stood up, walking to the closet of the bedroom, and pulling out a folded up wheelchair.

"Fuck my life." Stiles groaned.

"Hey, it's a good thing you still have a life!" Scott huffed, and helped Stiles ease down into the chair.

"Go easy on Malia, okay? She tries her best."

"I hate to tell you this, Stiles, but she most certainly does NOT try her best." Scott said, and they held each other's gaze for a moment.

"I don't want you to do this." Stiles whispered. "I don't want any of this. You and Allison should be registering for a baby shower. Malia should be studying for her GED. Lydia shouldn't even be here! She should be eating some fucking croissants right now with a guy named Pierre!" he yelled. Although it was a serious statement, Scott couldn't help his mouth from lifting at the corner at the 'fucking croissants' comment.

"Too damn bad, man. We love you too much to let you go." And that was the end of it.

* * *

 

It was painful to see Stiles being wheeled out of the bedroom by Scott. He was clearly embarrassed about it. His pajama pants were still on, and he was in a sweatshirt, with a beanie pulled over his lowered head.

"Take this." Scott said frostily to Malia, handing her a duffle bag of Stiles' clothing and medication. She took it wordlessly. Stiles had not looked at Malia once since being 'revived,' and she didn't look at him either.

Together, the five of them left the apartment and made their way to Beacon Hills General Hospital.

* * *

 

Stiles looked much better when he was pumped full of drugs. Melissa McCall stroked his burning forehead with weepy eyes. It was a painful sight to look at, and Lydia could only bare to be in the same room for minutes at a time. Stiles had been emitted right away, and they practically had to beg a hysterical Melissa not to tell Sheriff. In the end, it had been Lydia to convince her. The Sheriff will would visit Stiles, but only if and when Stiles seemed to be getting better. This news would only push him further into his grief, and further from his son.

"But he isn't going to get better." Melissa had said. "His disease is degenerative."

They all just pretended they didn't hear her.

It had occurred to Lydia that perhaps Stiles' disease was preventing love from growing between two people in more places than one. Melissa and the Sheriff were often the subject of gossip in the group, and they were not so secretly shipped by the community. Lydia didn't know when the last time they spoke to each other was. She felt as if it were inappropriate to ask. Just like Stiles' untouched bedroom, some open wounds were better left alone.

* * *

 

"Want another chocolate pudding?" Malia asked, spooning the last of the pudding and bringing it to Stiles' mouth.

"Pudding for my pudding." Stiles slurred, his eyes glazed over. Lydia held back the need to dry heave.

Sure Stiles was drugged out of his mind, but if they started calling each other nicknames, she was out.

Malia was trying very hard to make up for her absent mindedness by being extra attentive to his needs, 'absent mindedness' being the most generous statement Lydia could think of. The words deadly and moronic came to mind, but she mentally swallowed the thought like a bitter pill.

"So we'll keep him here overnight to check his vitals and you know, just to be safe." Melissa read off his chart, informing the group.

"Someone should let Derek know what happened." Scott suggested, looking at Allison, who took the initiative and exited the room to make a call.

"Scott." Melissa said once the door had closed. "Please, please reconsider. You can't handle this. You have too much on your plate. You need to let the hospital look after Stiles." she pleaded.

"Mom, you know I can't." Scott strained. "Trust me, I want to. But I have to respect his wishes. I have to put his wants before my own."

"I'm here now." Lydia spoke up, and they all turned to look at her.

"I mean, if anyone is the most equipped to take care of him, other than a hospital, it's me." She said, fluffing her hair behind her shoulder. She hoped her high school, unceremonious attitude would provide some normality to the situation.

"Whoa Lydia you're fifteen." Stiles blinked blankly.

"No Stiles, she's twenty-one." Malia said, patting his shoulder.

"I'm fifteen."

"No, you're twenty-one too."

"I'm fifteen and I will die if I don't marry Lydia Martin." he groaned, throwing his hands over his face. "Scott, can you talk to Lydia for me?"

Lydia's heart froze in her chest, and the room became as silent as a graveyard. Malia's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

After a beat of the most uncomfortable silence in Lydia's life, Scott started to snicker, and then it became a full bellied laugh. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he actually slapped his knee. Lydia started laughing at his absurdity, and then at the silliness of the situation. Melissa even joined in. Soon they were roaring and hooting and Lydia's belly started to ache. But when Malia rose from the bed and stormed out of the room, it became as silent as a graveyard again.

* * *

Chinese food spread out over Derek's coffee table, and Lydia watched in amusement as Allison used her chopsticks to defend the last of the mu shu pork from Scotts greedy fingers.

"So." he laughed, after failing to acquire the pork, "where do we start?"

"I think we know the answer to that question, unfortunately." Derek sighed, and looked at Lydia.

"Peter." She said, rolling her eyes. She would dread having to go back to Eichen House, but perhaps he would be completely bonkers after being confined there for a few years, she thought hopefully.

"Who else could be of any help?" Allison asked.

Malia brought a hand to her mouth and called out, "Yoohoo! Anyone know how to cure advanced frontal temporal dementia by supernatural means? Anyone?"

"Ha. Ha." Allison elbowed her with a smile.

"Maybe there is something in the Bestiary? And we should contact Kira's mom, as the Nogitsune mimicked the symptoms of the disease. Maybe she'll have information." Allison suggested, and Derek nodded in approval.

"And maybe…" Allison started, but trailed off.

"What?" Lydia asked, but she already knew the answer. Maybe she could find something using her Banshee senses.

It had been years since Lydia had purposefully tapped into her powers. She envisioned her abilities like a muscle. If it didn't get exercise, it would weaken. Maybe even shrivel up completely. She didn't want to let anyone down, but she doubted if she could be of any help apart from the only muscle she consistently used, her brain.

"I don't know." Lydia sighed, rubbing her temples. "I've been trying to suppress being a banshee for years."

"No better time to let that freak flag fly than in Beacon Hills." Derek suggested, taking a slug of his beer.

"I'll try my best, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm probably going to be useless."

"That's nonsense." Allison said, wrapping herself into her sweatshirt. "Stiles was gone when Scott performed CPR. And when you put your forehead to his, he was back."

It grew very quiet, as the group looked at her, as if she were a specimen in a petri dish under a microscope. Everyone held her gaze except Malia, who closed her eyes and took a big gulp of beer.

"You did? He did?" Derek asked quietly.

"No." Lydia said. "That wasn't me. It was coincidence, science."

"There are still so many things we don't know about this world, and about ourselves." Scott said, placing his hand over her own. "I already feel safer with you here."

She smiled graciously. She felt the same way with them. Now that she was back in Beacon Hills, it did feel as if she had reconnected to a part of her she was missing. Her pack.

But deep down, she knew the truth. That feeling of safety and security was bound to run out. It wouldn't last for any of them.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

"Still like cherry danishes, right?" Lydia asked, holding up the paper bag.

"Oh my God, you are a life saver." Stiles groaned from the hospital bed. He reached his arms out, hands grabbing at thin air in the direction of the still warm pastry.

Lydia smiled and made her way to the chair next to his bed. He looked much better this morning. His eyes were still a little groggy, but the color was back in his lips, and he wasn't drugged out of his mind, babbling nonsense. It was almost as if she could fool herself into believing he hadn't had a brush with death just the other day. Almost.

"Where is everybody?" Stiles inquired through a mouthful of food.

"Still sleeping. I know you get up early so I thought I'd beat them to it and give you some company. Plus I wanted to give you a non-hospital breakfast."

"And for that, I am eternally grateful." he laughed, squeezing her hand.

She felt like her heart had fallen out of her body.

"Anyway," she sniffed, "we're all pretty eager to get you home."

Stiles paused a moment, and Lydia watched the muscle in his jaw clench and unclench.

"I don't know what to do." he murmured, scratching the scruff of his chin. Lydia watched intently, waiting for what he would say next, although she already knew what he would say.

"I don't think Malia can handle this. I know she's not alone, and Scott and Allison, even Derek help out. But like...she needs even more help. You know? She has to watch me go crazier with each passing day. And she doesn't sleep in my room anymore. She says the machines keep her awake but I'm not so sure…." he slowly trailed off, avoiding Lydia's gaze.

"Well," she started, "I'm here, and so that's another person that can ease her work load, you know? And just the other day, we all sat down and tried to re-organize the responsibilities. So she has less on her plate already."

"I just wish someone would take me out into the woods and put a bullet in my brain."

This time he did look at her, and she stared back. Here he was, all six feet of him. All bumbling, brilliant, once-hyperactive Stiles. The Stiles she had known for years. The Stiles who had saved her life over and over in more ways than one, and whom she had returned the favor. The silence stretched on, until Lydia finally said, "That's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

Stiles threw his head back and bellowed a laugh. After that, the conversation was a lot more jovial.

* * *

"The antidepressants are in the red pill box, and the antipsychotics are in the blue. I keep the Lexapro separated in the yellow box, and the green box is sleep aids." Malia shook the green box, and placed it back into the medicine cabinet.

Lydia resisted the urge to correct Malia's organizational methods, and nodded instead. It wasn't as though his drugs were unorganized, but Lydia was unsurprised that Malia had occasionally forgotten his medicine, or gave the wrong doses from time to time. She made a mental note to come back to the cabinet and organize it later.

Malia had shown her the ins and outs of Stiles' daily care, and Lydia had to admit, even for her, it was a lot to remember. There were certain buttons that needed to be pushed at specific times of the day. Certain beeping noises that meant certain things. Specific meals and drinks that would boost his memory and mood, and specific drugs that are to be taken in a very specific way at a very specific time. Lydia was most nervous for him at night, when she would have to hook him up to an IV, and put on his sleep apnea headpiece. She was nervous that he would stop breathing in the middle of the night, and this time, by some stroke of sheer luck, they wouldn't walk in early enough to discover him. She was worried that one day he would wake up and forget her name. Worried for the day where he would eventually become mute and bedridden, and then, eventually, disappear entirely.

"Malia," she said, placing her hand on her friend's shoulder, "I'm really sorry that you had to do this. Had to, you know...go through this."

Malia looked at her for a moment before shrugging and closing the door to the medicine cabinet.

"It is what it is, I suppose." she said, tossing her dark blonde curls behind her shoulder. "No sense in getting worked up over what can't be changed."

"But maybe it can be changed." Lydia said, before she registered her own words. Did she really believe that? Where they really going to find some way to heal Stiles' mind? And if they did find a cure, at what cost?

Malia just smirked.

"Come on. I'm an idiot but not a fool." she sneered, turning to exit the room. "I give him four months, if that."

Malia's stinging words hung in the air, and Lydia let them seep into her skin and burn like acid.

* * *

 

That night, she poured over the Bestiary. Some was in archaic Latin. Some was in Greek. Some in Sanskrit. But most she had translated herself. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a cure. Lydia had realized she didn't agree with Malia's cynicism. Stiles couldn't have four months to live. There was no way he was dying. She tried to brush away the nagging idea it was her own emotions, rather than logic, that was telling her that. There was just no way. She couldn't even imagine a world without Stiles. It was a world that she did not want to be apart of.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I've hit almost 1,000 views! As a special treat, I've uploaded not one, but two chapters today! That mean's AO3 is officially caught up with my ff.net site! A hug and kiss to reader maybe.okay.will.be.our.always for favoriting and following Because of Stiles on my ff.net account, and to I.like.to.be.called.cupcake, whose username made me bust a gut! Coach is my favorite Teen Wolf character, and I just re-watched the episode where he said that the other night!
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! xx

_"What are we going to do?" He asked, lower lip trembling before he ran his palm over his face._

_"I-I don't know. I don't know how this happened." She murmured, feeling her throat slowly closing up, and blinked rapidly._

_She had contemplated how she would break the news for weeks. What she would say, how she would say it. How he would react to her unfortunate circumstance._

_"This, this is fucked. We're fucked. I mean, we're both leaving! Me to New York City, you to Europe…" He stumbled over his words, twitching, distress spewing into verbal vomit._

_There were so many parts of him, feeling so many things. They charged life into electric thoughts, firing through his conscious rapidly. There was a part of him that was genuinely terrified. A part of him that realized this would change everything. And buried deep down, a quiet corner of his mind fluttered to life. Lydia and Stiles, raising a child together. Lydia curled up, breastfeeding on his father's plaid armchair, only now in a house of their own. Stiles cooking dinner, hearing Lydia shower from their bed, falling asleep next to her warm body...hearing an excited voice exclaim, 'Daddy!' when he came home from a long day at the station._

_He swallowed audibly. Maybe...maybe this could work. Their child would be brilliant, with big green orbs for eyes. Maybe her dimples too. Maybe the best parts of her, and the best parts of him. Maybe...maybe…._

_"Maybe this could work." He whispered, suddenly afraid to look her in the eye._

_"W-what?" She hissed, pressing a hand to her fluttering heart._

_"Maybe...we could do this. We could do this!" He finally raised his eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lips anxiously._

_"We can work through this. I'll go to school in the area, work with my dad. You can move in, maybe we'll get a place of our own. You can take accelerated online courses for a bit...this can work, Lydia. I mean, we're young, but we're mature enough to handle this. We're smart, we've got options, and we're not in high school. It's not too abnormal for this to happen to people our age."_

_"People our age are not fighting the supernatural either! Let's face it, we're not normal to begin with! Now is not the time to bring a life into this world. It's too chaotic right now, there's too much going on-"_

_"I love you."_

_It slipped out of his mouth before he could even register his lips had moved. He watched about a thousand emotions flicker across her face, before finally settling in a deep blush. And she began to cry, really cry, for the first time since she was thirteen. For the first time since her father had returned from the dead only to leave once more. But this time, no one was leaving, maybe not ever. She just looked at him and the tears wouldn't stop coming. Stiles, brilliant and beautiful, quirky, and now trapped. He loved her. He loved her._

_"I'm so scared." She whispered, and he couldn't find the bravery to ask about what._

* * *

 

Melissa McCall wiped the foam from her cappuccino off her upper lip, and gave a tight-lipped smile. Lydia had never really had a one on one encounter with Scott's mother, but she had always been an exemplary parental figure. She was always cooking something, worrying over someone, offering advice, and trying her best. This was a rare occasion that she was not dressed in her work scrubs, but jeans and a cable-knit sweater that brought out her big brown eyes.

Lydia could understand how she could capture the affection of Sheriff Stilinski. She was easy, effortlessly beautiful. Lydia considered if she herself was easy and effortless, before internally snorting at the thought. Lydia wasn't easy or effortless, everything she did was with effort. When Melissa had texted her asking to meet up, she had taken thirty minutes to apply minimal makeup and throw on a dress. Lydia Martin was anything but effortless.

"So Stiles has returned from the hospital. And I hear you're taking over Stiles' medication routine?" Melissa inquired.

"Yes, well, parts of it. I've taken over the majority of it so that Malia can feel a little more at ease, and just...be able to enjoy the time she has with Stiles."

"Yeah, it seems those two need some time to...work things out." Melissa briefly offered, before looking down at her steaming drink, away from Lydia's eyes.

"It has been a chore, his routine is quite difficult."

"Yes," Melissa intercepted, placing the china cup on the saucer and looked up again. "It's no easy task. Which is why I wanted to meet with you. I come over about twice a week to the apartment to just check up on him and make sure everything is running smoothly. But I'm begging you Lydia, you can't do this on your own. All of you. It's too much. Allison has a baby on the way. My grandchild." Although she implored, she smiled at the word 'grandchild.'

"I know, trust me, I know. But what could possibly be our options here? Stiles returns to the hospital, where you and I both know that no level of treatment will help him progress. With a negative state of mind, he'll slip away more quickly. And he doesn't want that! I know your mothering instincts are always on point, I really do. But we are not children anymore. We are starting lives of our own, living on our own. We're even starting to have children of our own. I'm going to be Dr. Martin. And we can do this." Lydia expressed, grabbing Melissa's hand across the table.

"No one loves Stiles more than we do. We're there for him, through anything."

"I know." Melissa whispered, and wiped her eyes. "But you have no idea how...difficult...it was watching Claudia fall apart. When Stiles' mother neared the end of her life...you just, don't know what it's like to see that kind of loss."

"I can assure you, I do." Lydia shuddered, remembering all of the losses she had encountered over the course of high school, when Beacon Hills was crawling with the supernatural. Aiden.

"Oh-oh of course, I'm so sorry." Melissa rushed, "I didn't mean it like that, I just meant on an uncontrollable level, on a family level, on...I'm sorry. It's not coming out right, I just meant that it was hard. Really, really hard. And it affects everyone."

Death doesn't happen to you, it happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're going to live the rest of their lives now without you in it.

Melissa continued, "Watching what Stiles went through when he lost his mother as a child, watching the Sheriff...watching him continue to try parenting alone...it's just…." She couldn't finish her thought.

"You should see him."

"Pardon?" Melissa said, startled.

"I just mean, you should go see him. Talk to him, try to convince him to visit Stiles. If he comes around, it will just give Stiles another reason to continue fighting."

"I've tried, believe me." Melissa's head dipped low, her voice beginning to waver. "But he, um, he's blocking a lot of things out at the moment. Including people."

If Lydia were to live out a fantasy for the future, Stiles would be cured, and all the broken hearts would be mended, including Melissa's and the Sheriff's.

She looked around for the first time since being seated outside the quiet cafe. The sun was warm on her back, and the rays brought some red to Melissa's otherwise chestnut hair. A butterfly fluttered on a table nearby. Sometimes when moments were beautiful like this, it was so hard to imagine terrible things were happening to those that she loved, and to herself.

"Boy or girl?"

"What?"

"Do you think Allison is having a boy or a girl?"

"...girl. Her belly is lying low." Melissa smiled, really smiled. "What do you sense?"

Lydia laughed. "I'm a banshee, not a psychic!"

"History has told us otherwise." She smiled, and Lydia smiled warmly back.

"I'm glad you asked me to meet you. You've been in my life for a long time. I'm sorry it took a while for us to really chat." Lydia said, sipping her chai.

"You've changed a lot, huh?" Melissa asked, tilting her head to examine her.

"I suppose so. Leaving home and traveling will do that to a person." Lydia replied thoughtfully.

"I suppose...but...you were never really the person that I assumed you to be, were you?"

Lydia was never the person that anyone assumed her to be.

"I do that on purpose." She shrugged, not able to meet Melissa's gaze. "Bad habits. But I'm getting better."

"I can tell, I really can."

"What do you think about me now? Don't hold back." Lydia smirked.

"Beautiful, obviously. And you know it. Brilliant. Full of life, vivacious."

"I'm a flame, am I?" Lydia laughed.

"In human form, absolutely." Melissa smiled back.

"Now let's hear the dirty details. Come on, lay it on me!"

Melissa paused to consider and arrange her words.

"...ferocious. And insatiable. A bit vain, and...very...sad. Sensitive and scared."

Lydia struggled, but offered a tight lipped smile.

"I'm the very likeness."

"Selfless. Completely selfless."

"A trait you share with me."

"And...you're heartbroken…" Melissa concluded, quietly.

"A trait you also share with me." Lydia responded after a lengthy pause.

Melissa froze momentarily to study her, and Lydia wondered if she was attempting to dig deeper into the depths of Lydia's psyche, or if it was more like Melissa was gazing into a mirror.

"Hmm." Melissa finally responded, smirking and taking a sip of her drink.

"Hmm." Lydia mimicked.

* * *

 

Allison was sprawled out on the couch, groaning as her shoulders met her ears, and her arms stretched over her head. Lydia could see her shirt stretch over her now protruding tummy, the early signs of pregnancy now clearly visible.

"I could get used to this!" She laughed, and Lydia joined her.

Scott was rubbing her feet at one end of the couch, while Lydia softly played and braided her hair at the other.

"I hate to ruin this moment, but...Stiles. I think we should talk to Deaton, he may know something."

"Absolutely." Lydia nodded.

"What makes you all so certain that this can be solved by something supernatural?"

The three looked up to Malia standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

"We don't." Allison said, "but we have no other options. The doctors have all but written him off."

"Maybe that's because he's already written off." Malia said, and Lydia sucked in a breath.

"You know Malia, for someone who says they care for Stiles, you sure seem eager to dismiss any help." She snapped, and immediately flushed.

"As someone who cares for Stiles?" Malia's eyes burned a hole into Lydia.

"You should know all about that, shouldn't you? All of you, with your secrets and friendships. You have no idea what it's like, Lydia. How could you possibly understand what it feels when someone who said they loved you returned not being able to remember your name? Oh wait, you'll never know because you're incapable of being loved, especially by MY BOYFRIEND." Malia yelled angrily, eyes flashing and changing color.

"Whoa, okay, time out." Scott jumped up, with hands raised. "Malia, you're either with us or against us, so choose. And remember that Stiles can pick up on your attitude. We all have to be more aware of what we're putting into the air, here. I know it's hard on you, but it's hard on all of us too." Scott said, turning to Lydia, "We have to remember that. Hurt comes out with anger at times, I'm sure everyone is trying their best here."

Lydia breathed out, embarrassed and frustrated. She knew sometime that a discussion would be had with Malia, she just hoped it was no time soon.

* * *

"How was your day?" He asked as she sat by his bed, organizing the various needles she would use, before selecting a hypodermic needle.

"Good. I met with Scott's mom today."

"Let me guess, she wants you to put me in a hospital." He sighed, swinging his feet over the side of his bed. Lydia crossed her legs before looking up at him.

"Yes."

"And? You said?"

"Like hell we will." Lydia smiled and Stiles beamed back.

"I think after our talk, she's back on board with us taking care of you."

"Well I'm sure now that you're here, she's reassured."

Lydia smirked and swirled around a solution, injecting the point of the needle through the cap to suck up the liquid.

"Do you know how to do this?" Stiles gulped, after she squirted some of the solution out.

"Actually, yes. I interned with a doctor for a year at a non-profit hospital for the homeless."

Stiles looked at her so intently, she had to look away.

"You're amazing, you know?" And he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, making her visibly jump. His hand froze and he awkwardly brought it down to his side.

"Yeah, well," she tried to recover as she sterilized his arm with a clean wipe, "you have much better veins then most. No track marks…" she trailed off awkwardly as she tied a band around his arm. He had very nice forearms. Strong, prominent veins running through…

She was in trouble.

"I thought Malia was going to stab me to death the first time she tried to get a vein. Allison's been doing it since then. She's not much better, but she has gentle hands." Stiles laughed uncomfortably.

"You're going to feel a pinch." Lydia said, inserting the tip into his flesh.

"Ha, I've been stuck so many times, you really don't have to tell me what it feels like-OW." He yelped, gagging.

Lydia laughed, "Am I that bad? You said you knew what it felt like!"

"Yeah but it doesn't hurt any less every time!" Stiles exclaimed, then laughed. She joined him.

"You got it on the first try though! Good for you." He congratulated, and pulled his sleeve down to his wrist. "I know it's bedtime when the needles come out."

"That's unpleasant." Lydia remarked, cleaning up the medical supplies.

"What's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"We're going to see Deaton tomorrow. You're pretty talkative today."

"Just happy to get out of that freaking hospital. Let me come with!"

Lydia paused to consider. Stiles had bright eyes, and although his ever-present dark rimmed eyes and pale lips remained, she saw a clarity behind his look. He appeared mentally with it. But she was reminded of Scott's warning when she first arrived back: he may seem or say he's okay, he's not.

"I don't know."

"Lydia, come on!" He rolled his eyes, twisting his hair with his fists so it stuck up at odd angles.

"Look, if it were up to me, absolutely. I'll talk to Scott about it and I'll give Melissa a call. But I'm on your side here. If we take your wheelchair and a backpack of meds, I think the fresh air will do you good."

"I can walk you know! I walk all around the apartment and I'm going to the bathroom by myself and sometimes I make my own food!" Stiles exclaimed, and Lydia had a fleeting vision that he was a child, begging a parent to let him have freedom.

"You can walk around for about five minutes before your forehead gets a sheen and you have to sit down. You go to the bathroom by yourself but Scott has to help you wash your hair, and you have to sit down on the side of the tub, and the only food you can make is your smoothies because it's quick and relatively easy. Don't think I don't notice these things!" Lydia retorted, folding her arms with a glare. He glared back for a few moments, both of them battling for understanding from the other.

"I know, Lydia. I know you notice. Of course you notice. Sometimes I think you're the only one who notices."

"You hate it though. I'm just trying to be real with you here."

"Uggghhh." He groaned, and flopped back onto the bed, hands covering his face.

She could practically feel his shame radiating off of him. She sighed before getting up and handing him a cup of water. He silently took it and watched as she unscrewed the caps off of several varying medication bottles from his bedside. Once the caps were off, she counted varying numbers of pills into their corresponding caps, before handing him the caps of pills for him to swallow.

"You don't touch the pills?"

"Habit. It's a safety procedure for contamination protection."

"Malia usually just hands me a fistfull of pills and I take what she gives me."

"Well, I'm not Malia." Lydia snapped, and immediately felt guilty for the harshness of her tone. Maila was her friend, after all. Malia had relatively been there for her...at times.

"No...no you're not." Stiles whispered, and for a sudden irrational moment, Lydia was terrified to look him in the eye.

* * *

 

"Everyone ready to go? I told Deaton we'd arrive around noon." Scott bellowed, looking swiftly around the room.

Derek solemnly nodded, Allison tightened the scarf around Stiles' neck and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, while Lydia finished packing Stiles' medication into a black backpack that she would carry with her. A clattering echoed around the foyer as Malia wrestled to fold up the wheelchair for transportation. The clattering grew louder, as Malia began to shout.

"Is-is someone here?" Allison asked, peeking around the corner before a foreign language carried through the apartment.

"Whoa, whoa, I don't speak Spanish!" Malia cried out.

But the voice wasn't speaking Spanish.

Lydia whipped her head around to see the handsome figure standing in the doorway, rapidly spewing French and looking frantic.

Shit.

"Ah! Lydia!" He finally noticed her, and she wanted to sink into the floor. The man barged past Malia to cross the room and embrace her in a deep kiss.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, but not in a pleasant or romantic way. The silence seemed like it stretched on for minutes before Stiles' voice broke it.

"And who the **fuck** are you?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Chapter 7 y'all! A big hug and kiss to FunnyGirl23, who has favorited, followed, and reviewed BoS on both AO3 and FF.net! Thanks girl! You're amazing!! xx

The tension could have been cut with a knife.

Lydia's eyes frantically bounced from the handsome Frenchman's puzzled expression, to Stiles' furious one. She could swear her heart was beating so hard that everyone heard it.

Finally, Allison broke the silence by stepping forward and introducing herself.

"Hey, I'm Allison, Lydia's best friend. Welcome to California, uh…?"

"Daniel." He grinned, shaking her hand.

Thank God he said his name, because Lydia hadn't known it.

"Well, _Daniel_ , what are you doing in **my** apartment?" Stiles growled, eyes shining.

"I've come to see my girlfriend of course!" Daniel beamed, crossing to Lydia and embracing her warmly. And to everyone's horror, including Lydia's own, he kissed her deeply.

" _Mon Chéri_ , I missed you so much." He whispered against her forehead. It would have been a very sweet gesture, had Lydia actually cared about him.

"Lydia, I didn't know you had a boyfriend!" Malia grinned wickedly at her from the doorway.

"I, I-uh. Uh…" Lydia stammered, looking to Allison for help.

"Hey, um, Daniel, would you care for some tea? A water?" She motioned to the kitchen.

"No. No we're on our way out the door." Stiles shook his head vehemently, and Lydia noticed he had visibly paled, a sheen delicately coating his forehead.

Daniel frowned and spoke rapid French to Lydia, who returned it angrily, and stepped out of his embrace.

"I'm sorry if you feel I intrude, I just want to see my baby. She left in such a hurry for home. I knew something was wrong so I came to surprise her, make her feel better!" Daniel apologized to the clearly uncomfortable pack. Lydia immediately felt a flush of shame. Daniel was probably a good guy, and she had occasionally used him on a couple whims to fulfill an insatiable need. But somehow, the sincerity of their relationship had been lost in translation.

" _Pouvons-nous parler en privé_?" She whispered to him frantically, gesturing to door.

"Actually, how about we head out and give you two a minute?" Allison suggested, picking up on the bit of French, and pulled Stiles by the arm to the doorway. The group gave her a final strange look before exiting, leaving Lydia alone to clean up her mess.

She sighed and walked over to the couch, Daniel following behind before taking a seat.

"When did you get here?"

"Yesterday. I asked around town until I was told where to find you."

"Daniel...I'm, I'm sorry."

His face immediately fell.

"Sorry for what, Lydia?"

"I'm-I'm in a really shitty situation here right now! I mean, I'm seriously fucked up! And I truly never meant to hurt you, or confuse you, but this is not what you think it is. I, um, I came to visit a dying friend."

It was the first time she had admitted that Stiles was dying. Though there was truth in the 'dying' part, she was uncertain of how much truth there was in the 'friend.' Lydia felt a panic radiate from the center of her chest as her heart pounded. How do you explain to someone that their perspectives couldn't be more polar opposite? How did she explain to someone who considered himself to be her **boyfriend** , who had hopped on a plane to visit her, that she couldn't even remember his name? She rubbed her temples fruitlessly, a headache beginning to form a sharp pain in the center of her skull.

"...And um, I don't think we're on the same page when it comes to our relationship. I've always...kind of...done my own thing. Alone. And uh, I...I never considered us to be...together. You were just...fun to be around. Just a fun time, nothing serious, you know?"

Daniel stared at her for what seemed to be a very long time, before breaking the icy silence.

"You...you truly don't give a fuck about anyone, do you?" He snarled.

It was as if he had slapped her across the face. She felt color bloom on her porcelain cheeks, and spread across her chest.

"N-no that's not it at all! Please-"

"You have problems you know?" He cried out, angrily rising from the couch to storm to the doorway. "Just because you're beautiful, it doesn't give you the right to treat people like this. You can't conceal all your issues with your slutty behavior, Lydia. I never fucked you like a slut, but maybe I should have. You just fucked me over! Maybe that's how you were fucking me this entire time! But from my end, I was always making love to you!"

"Louis, please!" Lydia cried out, tears stinging her eyes.

"IT'S DANIEL!" He bellowed, before slamming the door, leaving Lydia empty and alone.

* * *

The pack watched from Stiles' Jeep as the Frenchman all but ran out of the apartment complex.

"Well that was fast. We didn't even leave the parking lot." Derek snorted from the passenger seat.

"He looks really upset. Maybe I should go check on Lydia." Allison said worriedly, reaching up to squeeze Scott's shoulder in the driver's seat.

"No. Lydia made her bed, she should lie in it." Malia deadpanned, and Stiles nodded vigorously next to her.

There was a part of him that wanted to run up to the apartment and hold her, and a part of him that wanted to scream at her and ask who he was...let his jealousy take over. And then there was another part of him that wished so desperately to just not care about her at all.

"Come on," Scott said, shifting the vehicle into reverse, "Deaton is waiting."

* * *

Deaton's office had not changed through the years. It was still immaculate but cozy. So clearly a veterinarian's office. It was almost too obvious, too textbook, too phony, but maybe it only appeared so to those who knew the truth. Deaton met them at the door, embracing Scott with a smile, and leading the pack into the back of the building, into the laboratory area.

"So I gather you have questions." He smiled politely as they settled into sitting positions.

"Do we ever not have questions?" Scott smiled back, before it quickly faded.

"We were hoping, by some miracle, that you'd be able to give us any information you can on frontotemporal dementia." Allison inquired quietly.

"I'm not a neurologist, nor even a human doctor." Deaton reminded, shaking his head.

"We know, it's just that...when Stiles was Void, his symptoms were mimicking the disease. The disease itself is...incurable," Scott said, his voice breaking on the last word, "leaving us with little to no medical options. So, we were hoping…"

"...That I would be able to offer you assistance? That perhaps Stiles' disease is in fact, correlated with the supernatural?" Deaton finished, eyebrows raised.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't have an answer."

Stiles flushed, humiliated and angry. Of course there was no possible way to cure his ailment. He was dying, and the sooner they faced that fact, the sooner they could move on with their lives.

"I can do some research, but I have no knowledge how to proceed. I don't know if there is a creature or artifact or effect that could possibly be of any help. Am I your only consult?"

"No, we're considering reaching out to Kira's mother, Mrs. Yukimura, and possibly Peter Hale. We've already looked into medical records and Eichen House records, but haven't found anything." Scott said.

"And Lydia's translating the Bestiary to the best of her abilities." Allison interjected.

Deaton paused to consider their information, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Speaking of Lydia, what is being done to hone in her powers?" He asked.

"Well...nothing right now." Scott spoke truthfully. "When she returned she told us she's been trying to squash her inner banshee for years."

"Let me be as clear as I can. If Stiles' ailment, by some stroke of miracle, can be cured by supernatural means, Lydia is the alpha and omega of the cure. She will be the only one to find it, and will be the one to end it." Deaton spoke clearly.

A silence weighed heavy in the room, as they took in his advice.

"Do whatever it takes to hone her ability. And be sure to pick up on minor details or patterns. Anything out of the ordinary. It could be her ability pushing to the surface on a subconscious level. She may not even be aware of it herself. But she's your best bet."

Stiles felt like getting up and jumping through a glass window. Of course this all came down to Lydia and himself. Wasn't that the way it always was? He could never escape her. Even when she was living across an entire ocean, an entire continent, he felt her presence like a weight every day. Sometimes, just before he would wake, he could smell her scent on his pillow. Fresh, and clean, and romantic, as if she had been lying there next to him. But the scent would vanish as soon as he would open his eyes. Other times, he would be struck with a sudden irrational emotion, seemingly out of nowhere. One minute driving down a sunny road with the windows down, enjoying himself, when a bubble of frustration or lust would blossom in his throat, and he had to pull over until it passed. It was as if he were experiencing emotions not entirely his own. He had thought about her every day, and when he was taken to a hospital in the city after being found in an alleyway, he was told he kept asking for a 'Lydia.' He couldn't even remember his own name, but he remembered Lydia. It was the only thing he had remembered.

He let out a shaky breath, and rubbed his face. Malia squeezed his knee in reassurance, and he leaned over to peck her cheek. He was glad she had stuck through this with him, for the most part. He had watched someone he loved leave him before, and he didn't think he could do it again.

"Maybe we should also consider the Nematon." Derek suggested, looking around the room. "It's fully radiating it's power, but there hasn't been nearly as much strife and problems since the pack split ways for college."

"When Scott, Allison and Stiles performed the ritual to locate their parents, the Nemeton fully awoke. But a pack that is separated is not as strong. I suppose the power that you've given to the Nemeton could be applied to the Nemeton as well."

"But what will become of the Nemeton's power now that we're all together again?" Allison asked worriedly.

"Lydia was the last member of the pack to come back. I'm...not sure what this will mean for the supernatural in Beacon Hills." Deaton confessed.

"That damn tree stump released the Nogitsune, and is drawing the supernatural to Beacon Hills like...like...well, like a beacon!" Malia growled, causing the group to crack smiles.

"But the Nemeton is also used for good," Deaton reminded, "Remember, it's a sacred space. It's wood is also used for mountain ash and is responsible for the chest that currently holds the Nogitsune, among other supernatural artifacts."

"So burning the stump to the ground is not the way to go." Malia spoke dubiously.

"Not unless you want to cause more suffering than good." Deaton said firmly.

"Do you think that the Nemeton would be of any use to curing Stiles?" Derek asked.

Deaton considered the question.

"I suppose. If anything, it's powers would give strength to whatever supernatural thing could cure him. Here's my suggestion for you all, do not give up. Stiles, continue to do whatever you can to improve the quality of your health. For the group, continue to translate the Bestiary. And seek out Peter, Mrs. Yukimura. Remember, Lydia is invaluable. I'm sorry I could not provide solid answers for you, but if you need any help or have other questions, I'm always available."

* * *

Lydia frantically scrubbed the remaining dishes in the sink, her headache worsening. Daniel's harsh but truthful words played on a loop inside her mind.  _You truly don't give a fuck about anyone, do you?_

That part wasn't true. Lydia reminded herself. The only thing that she thought about was other people. Are they okay? What are they feeling? How could she help? It seemed incredibly unfair that he had judged her when he had never known that part of her.

_And whose fault is that, Lydia?_

"Mine." Lydia murmured aloud, sniffing with a mixture of both self-pity and loathing.

"Everything is always my fault. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should have told him. I-"

"Lydia!" Someone screamed from far away, and she felt hands caress her face. Stiles.

She blinked once, twice, before registering the wild look in his eyes as he stared at her.

"What?" She asked, confused. "Stiles, what is it?"

She looked behind him at the rest of the group that had entered the apartment, back from Deaton's. They all had wrinkled brows, Scott and Allison exchanged a strange look, before looking past her into the room. She turned to follow their gazes, and let out a gasp.

Everything was open.

The drawers, the cabinets, refrigerator, windows, bedroom door and bathroom door, all open. It was as sudden as a punch to the gut, and there was something vaguely disturbing about it.

"What the fuck?!" She exclaimed, clearly alarmed.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked, rubbing his thumb against the underside of her lip to her jaw.

"I-I was just doing the dishes. I was just standing here doing the dishes and the next thing I know you're calling my name!" Lydia panicked.

"The apartment door was open." Allison said, striding over to her side. "You were standing in the middle of the room repeating something. Can you remember what it is?"

Lydia's head began to pound, pain surrounding her temples once more. She rubbed her hand across her forehead, surprised to feel it moist from beads of sweat.

"N-no." She shook her head.

"You were standing there, facing away from us, and saying it over and over again." She put an arm around Lydia's shoulders.

"What was I saying? Tell me."

" _Not a door_." Stiles whispered, eyes burning deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prayer circle for Daniel. RIP Daniel's future relationships.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Thank you all so much for putting up with my mini hiatus and leaving reviews! I've been super swamped with work and school, and am currently procrastinating studying for an exam tomorrow morning. What's more important, human biology or Stydia? I think we can obviously all agree here. (Lydia Martin would be furious at us. I see lots of eye rolling and crossed arms). 
> 
> And I can't believe I'm less than 500 hits away from 2,000 views! What an incredible feeling! 
> 
> Enjoy! xx

 

"There's no way it's the Nogitsune." Scott shook his head vigorously.

"Then why the hell did Lydia say, 'not a door?'" Derek fumed, pacing the flat.

"It does sound a lot like the riddle Stiles was given by his subconscious when he was possessed." Allison said worriedly.

"When is a door not a door...when it's ajar." Scott whispered. "But it could have meant anything! She could have been just out of it. Look, if the Nogitsune was inside Stiles' mind, it would be doing a hell of a lot more than just torturing him."

"Regardless, Lydia had a very real moment of supernatural ability, and we shouldn't take that lightly. Lydia needs to do wacky things like this more often. It gives us something to hold onto." Derek growled, finally taking a pause from pacing.

"What we need to do is figure out what the hell she meant, and we need her to keep doing it. Personally, I think the more she interacts with Stiles, the greater the chance that she'll be able to tap into something that affects him." Allison suggested vehemently.

The trio paused to consider her words. Lydia needed to be tested and given situations to allow her abilities to rise to the surface once more. What they didn't want to say out loud was that this would cause a definitive rift between the already tempestuous relationship of Stiles and Malia. And in turn, Malia and Lydia.

* * *

 

"I want to go for a walk." Stiles declared later that afternoon.

Scott looked up from the newspaper article he had been pretending to read.

"Okay dude, I'll go get the wheelchair…"

"No. I want to walk without it. If I get tired, I'll sit down." Stiles said defiantly, and stood up to get his sneakers from his bedroom.

Scott watched him retreat into his room before turning to Lydia.

"What do you say? I have to run an errand, and Malia and Allison are getting groceries."

"I guess it would be nice to take Prada for a walk." Lydia shrugged.

* * *

The sun hung halfway in the sky, warm and round. Prada's nails clicked on the cement sidewalk as she snorted happily along. It was a gorgeous day, but Lydia wasn't too focused on the beauty of her surroundings. Stiles walked beside her, arm occasionally brushing her own. He looked decent, but she was careful to note any labored breathing, or faint beads of sweat making an appearance on his paled skin.

After about a solid minute of watching him, he turned his brown eyes to her green ones.

"I'm fine."

"I know." She said, turning her gaze to the ground. "I just, I never got a chance to thank you. For taking care of Prada all these years. It was...you really didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did." He whispered, and Lydia looked up to meet his eyes.

They were already striking because his lashes were incredibly long and plush, dark and framing his inquisitive eyes. But the raw and bruised circles rimming them brought them out even more. She watched him as his tongue darted out to lick his full lips.

There was something about his mouth. It was constantly in motion, either open in disbelief or puckered in thought, or seeking out a word that didn't quite make it to being vocalized. He was always bringing objects up to touch them as well. A finger, a pen...she had already diagnosed him with some kind of oral fixation. It was fascinating really, she could watch his mouth for hours….

She suddenly felt the weight of his gaze, and slowly raised her eyes to his, blushing with humiliation. He had been watching her stare at his lips for what must have been an obscene amount of time. The more she felt herself blush, the more she could practically feel the heat rising from her cheeks. It was a catch-22.

"I-I think I need to sit down." He murmured, his vision glazing over as he studied her. She realized with a sudden alarm that he had visibly paled, and watched as the muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched.

"Oh-oh of course." She stammered, and took his hand, leading him to the shady base of a tree a few feet from the sidewalk.

Once he sat down, he closed his eyes and breathed in and out in bursts through his nose.

"Are you okay? I'm going to get the car-" She moved to get up but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down.

"Please don't. Just let me take a moment, give me some dignity." He groaned, and wiped his brow with the palm of his hand, eyes still shut.

Lydia studied his pained expression with worry before letting out a shaky breath.

" _It was very exciting for her, taking his dignity away in the name of love_." She whispered, head hung.

Stiles opened his eyes to glance at her.

"Kurt Vonnegut." She murmured, the corner of her lips quirking upwards shyly.

"Yeah," He smirked. "Slaughterhouse-Five, right?"

"Yup."

They sat there grinning at each other. They always understood each other, and sometimes Lydia was alarmed by it. She had never considered anyone here equal, intellectual or other, but Stiles was indeed her equal. And that thought was as dangerous as it was dazzling.

* * *

Allison wiped tears from her eyes as she struggled to breathe. Malia had kept her in stitches for the past five minutes by sticking a watermelon up her shirt and parading around the grocery store, feigning pregnancy.

"Scott! If I hear you howl at the moon one more time, I swear to God!" Malia frowned, one hand under her protruding 'belly.'

"Thank God it hasn't gotten to that point." Allison cackled.

"Yet!" Malia smirked playfully, taking the melon from under her shirt and placing it back on the mountain of fruit.

"Hey, thanks for coming with me." Allison said, inspecting an eggplant.

"Yeah of course." Malia smiled, threading her arm through Allison's.

"You're amazing, you know."

Malia froze.

"Uh-oh. What is it?" She questioned warily.

"What do you mean? I can't compliment a friend?"

"I just feel like it was a precursor to something. Like, you're doing amazing with this whole Stiles thing?"

Allison bit her lip. It was exactly what she was going to say.

"Is that offensive to you?"

Malia sighed and brought her arm back to her side. Offensive wasn't the word, exactly. It was more like, salt in a wound. Or a mistake that no one would let her forget.

"I'm just...consumed by him." She trailed off, unable to look Allison in the eye.

"Funny, Stiles kind of seems to have that effect on people." Allison spoke without thinking, and immediately flushed. Her eyes worriedly darted to Malia's, hoping she wouldn't pick up on the undertone. But she had, and she held her gaze, though Allison couldn't quite read her face.

"Ever since I was brought back into the human world, it's always been Stiles. Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. He taught me everything. How to behave, what a rhombus is. He was my first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first...everything. And now he's sick, and it's insane. It's even more about him than it's ever been. He's like, this insatiable machine that feeds on everything. Sometimes he'll purposely ask me questions that he knows I don't know the answer to. Or he'll need me to be his emotional crutch, and it's so uncomfortable for me. I don't know how to explain it."

Allison gazed at her friend who suddenly seemed so small, spilling her guts in the produce aisle. She had always considered Malia to be this force, blazing, fearless and unapologetic. Sometimes she forgot that Malia was more human than animal, and capable of feeling the same insecurities that Allison felt now and again.

"I understand what you mean. It's hard to be Stiles' equal. But that doesn't mean that you aren't enough. Or whole enough." She smiled sadly.

"It's going to be so weird when he dies." Malia spoke brashly.

" _Malia_!"

"I just mean that for the first time, I'll be living my life without Stiles in it. It won't be about Stiles anymore, it will be about Malia. Or, maybe it will be about Stiles still." Malia bit her lip.

"Maybe it will always be about Stiles. Even after death. Maybe Stiles is inescapable."

Allison stared long and hard at her friend, trying to imagine her mindset. Trying to see life from her point of view. Trying to understand and digest those complicated feelings for someone, but she couldn't. She couldn't imagine, could never even fathom that loving someone so much would end in resentment.

* * *

When Stiles and Lydia returned to the apartment, it was empty and Lydia's head had begun to ache on the walk back. Stiles was actively wiping sweat from his face from physical exertion and the California sun.

"I need a shower." He mumbled, unable to look at Lydia.

"I know. Let me pop an advil and I'll meet you in the bathroom."

"I can do it myself."

"Just let me do it."

"Okay."

"Good. Give me a minute."

* * *

 

The tub was halfway full when Lydia arrived, and Stiles sat with his eyes closed, forehead resting on the porcelain edge of the tub.

Lydia quickly but thoroughly scanned his naked torso, watching the muscles in his back occasionally twitch. He was wearing swimsuit trunks.

"Do you always break out the swimsuit for special occasions like this?" She cleared her throat, and sat down on the toilet beside the tub.

"Only to preserve a lady's respectability." He smiled and lifted his head to meet her gaze.

She smiled along with him and rolled up her sleeves, trying not to think of Scott washing his best friend's hair while he sat in the nude.

"Allison ever do this for you?" She asked.

"Jealous?"

She snorted.

"Shut up, Stilinksi. And pass me the shampoo."

Stiles complied, and ducked his head under the running faucet to wet his hair.

"You look so different when your hair is matted down to your head."

"Still handsome though, yeah?"

"Less like a porcupine, I suppose."

"Mmm, getting frisky here, Martin."

Lydia blushed and rolled her eyes. When he flirted with her like this, she always felt her stomach do a backflip, and she hated herself for it. She had seen him naked before, and he knew for a fact how  _frisky_  she could be. But that was years ago.

She reached across to gently, but assertively pull his hair.

"Ow, very frisky!" He yelped, but allowed himself to be dragged to her side.

She poured the shampoo in her palm, and lathered the liquid in her hands before massaging it into his scalp. She felt him silently sigh, and saw his shoulders slump.

It was quiet for a few minutes as she rubbed his temples and lathered his hair. She felt calmed by the motion, it was almost therapeutic. Just as Stiles seemed to drift peacefully, her headache had lessened as well.

She reached over to turn off the facet, the tub now full.

"I got you a cup of water. I know how sometimes the steam can make you overheated." She commented quietly.

"You think of everything. This feels really, really good."

"Really?"

"Yeah. No one messages my head like this when they do it. It's typically embarrassing for me, so I think they just want to get me in and out for my sake."

"Are you embarrassed now?" She asked, wiping suds off his fevered forehead.

He reached up to grab her head on the top of his head.

"Not with you. Never with you."

She let him hold onto her as his words filled her like a balloon. He always knew just what to say to make her feel things she had never allowed herself to feel with anyone else. She thought of all those men, sometimes the occasional woman, who had frequented her bed. There and then gone, they were faceless and forgettable. They were just bodies.

"I really missed you, you know." He said quietly.

"I know." She whispered, pulling her hand from his and continuing to clean his thick brown hair.

"Tell me about Paris."

"You'll have to visit sometime. I live in this flat, and you can see the Eiffel tower from my bedroom window."

"No!"

"Yeah! It's pretty awesome. It glitters like a million fireflies at night, and my whole bedroom sparkles from it. In the morning we can get croissants from the bakery down the road. I'll take you to the market. They have all these cool old records you'd like. I'll teach you a bit of French so you can get around, I know how easily you can pick up languages. We'll take a taxi, oh my God, you'll lose it. They're so scary! They're a close second to Kenyan taxis. Maybe on par with Istanbul taxis. They don't give a eff. And we'll pick you up a nice wool coat for when it rains, so you won't freeze to your bones. If it rains I'll take you to my favorite library. It's ancient and so ornate and quiet. It smells like old books. We'll smuggle in some French wine and drink it in a dark, secluded corner and get properly buzzed. And then we can read poetry to each other till the rain lets up, and we'll walk on the cobblestone back streets to get home, just as the streetlamps begin to light up."

Maybe she shouldn't have said all that. Maybe it was obvious that she had fantasized about Stiles visiting Paris on numerous occasions. Only, her visions included them making love on her silk sheets, as the Paris lights glowed and glittered on a dark backdrop. And sometimes, when she was particularly vulnerable, or royally drunk, she would picture walking with Stiles in the streets of Paris, only a small child would occupy the space between them.

She felt him breathe in, and when he breathed out, his breath rattled.

"I'm going to get better."

"Stiles-"

"I'll do it." He said firmly.

He wanted to say, 'I'll do it for you.' But what came out was,

"I'll get better for Paris."

He knew that she would understand what he was really trying to say, anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick, someone take me to church, because picturing Stiles speak French makes me feel unholy. *sweats vigorously*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS. Have you seen the new Teen Wolf promo?! It makes me fearful for my baby, Lydia Martin. Those doctors look so foreboding! I want to be so scared I shit myself. I'm talking 3x06 scary. What can I say? Mama likes her Teen Wolf dark.
> 
> In honor of the new promo, and my thirst for Stydia, I wanted to quickly share some of my favorite Stydia things.
> 
> Fav Website: http://fuckyeahstilesandlydia.tumblr.com/  
> Fav Teen Wolf Fanvid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBa7qVzcTd0&list=LLAsM8z4uN6keNp57wIh-4Lg&index=1  
> Fav Stydia Fanvid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66MksJMJ-VM&index=11&list=LLAsM8z4uN6keNp57wIh-4Lg  
> Fav Stiles Fanvid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zonJYrc8GPI&list=LLAsM8z4uN6keNp57wIh-4Lg&index=2
> 
> If you guys have a favorite Stydia story, pm me and let me know! I'm on the hunt for good fan fiction. Also, be aware that I may change the story to explicit, I don't know....for reasons... ;)
> 
> xx

_She was walking down a long, illuminated hallway in an industrial building that seemingly stretched on forever. The walls were a white concrete with vines growing from the cracks, silently dripping water. Big, vibrant pink flowers bloomed and shriveled and died and re-bloomed. Rebirth over and over in mere seconds. The white tile floor was cold and damp on her bare feet. It was so quiet, it was as if she had lost all hearing. Lydia had never known a silence like that._

_She continued to walk._

_The flowers began to sprout a stamen, bursting up from the center of their petals before curling into two branches. Lydia watched them as the branches formed ovaries, and pinpricks of blood rained to the floor. She knelt to touch her fingertips to the crimson puddles, unalarmed._

_"It's a girl." She smiled, and continued forward._

_She didn't know why she was there, or what might be at the end of her journey, but for the first time in a long time, she knew where she was going._

* * *

 

It was the nausea that woke her up, and she shot out of bed, rushing to the bathroom. She allowed herself to dry-heave once, before she ran out of the apartment, down to the floor below.

Lydia let herself into the dark apartment and though she couldn't see her, she heard Malia's soft snores from the couch. Blindly making her way through the dark, she finally made it to the bathroom and turned on the light.

Stiles was hunched over the toilet, and she watched his spine curve and his muscles contract as he vomited into the porcelain bowl. Silently, she knelt down to push his limp hair off his fevered forehead. He didn't ask her why she was there, or how she knew. He didn't need to.

She rubbed small circles on his lower back, and blew cold air onto the sweat that was beading on the back of his neck.

After ten minutes of heaving until there was nothing left, Stiles rested his head on the cold rim of the toilet, and looked at her through bleary, bloodshot eyes.

"Partying too hard again?" She asked and was rewarded with a small smile.

"Water?"

"Please." He rasped, taking a wad of toilet paper she handed him to wipe his mouth.

She walked him back to his bed, and helped him in.

"Stay." He murmured, patting the bed at his side.

"You know I can't."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do. And it isn't fair to anyone." She said firmly, and nodded her head to the living room couch.

"Since when has anything ever been fair for any of us?"

* * *

 

"You look tired." She turned to view Melissa McCall's worried face.

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Yeah. I've just been feeling a little off lately. I'm guessing it's allergies or something." Lydia dismissively waved her hand.

"Have you ever had allergies?" Melissa asked with a quirk of her brow.

"No, but I've heard you can acquire them. And Beacon Hills has more trees than Paris." Lydia shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

Sunlight filtered through the apartment, illuminating the kitchen in a golden light. Melissa arrived around eight-thirty for her weekly Stiles-assessment, as she called it. But Stiles had been sleeping in lately, as was everyone else. The exhaustion the group collectively felt was ever-present.

Lydia closed her eyes as a sharp pain burst like a firework in the center of her skull. She sucked in a breath and pulled a bottle of aspirin from the pocket of her dress, pouring out two white pills.

"Headache?"

"Yeah, I've been getting them a lot lately." She sighed, popping them into her mouth and sloshing them down with coffee.

"How often?"

"Melissa, you really don't have to worry about me. I'm fine! Just some pesky headaches here and there." She laughed.

"How often, Lydia?"

"Well they've been coming more frequently. Maybe three times a day?"

"That's a lot!" Melissa exclaimed, moving to her to press a cool hand to her forehead.

"I'm really fine! I've just been keeping this aspirin handy and I take one when they appear."

"You could be getting stress migraines. Here…" She trailed off to dig in her purse, pulling out a notecard and a pen.

"Come in to the hospital and meet with this doctor. It's during my shift so I can pop in as well. I know you're not worried, but he could prescribe you something. It would help with the amount of headaches you get, and reduce the pain. Just to be sure, Lydia. It would help." She rambled as she scribbled the information down.

Lydia made sure she saw Melissa put the card in her pocket.

The two sat in amicable silence, waiting for the group to arise. Lydia heard the sound of a shower being turned on. Scott was awake, and getting ready for the day. It wouldn't be long for Allison to get out of bed, followed by Stiles, and lastly, Malia. Derek was already awake, and she could hear him pacing the floor above. He wouldn't come down though, not until Melissa left and the discussion of Stiles' illness was finished. Derek helped the group with missions or physical labor, but when it came to the emotionally-charged discussion of Stiles, he would quietly excuse himself. She supposed because he wasn't quite close with him, he didn't feel apart of that experience. He was busy with his own pack, younger and more in need of guidance. They had outgrown him. He wasn't really the emotional type anyway. He didn't like getting close to people. Even in his own pack, he wasn't really close with anyone.

Lydia didn't blame him. Sometimes she wanted to do the same thing. To quietly slip away into nothing and nowhere. To not have to feel or think, even if only for a moment.

Once Allison and Scott were awake, they headed to the apartment a floor below. Stiles and Malia were both awake, Malia yawning widely, a bowl of cereal in hand.

"Why do we have to do this so early again?" She asked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She was adorable, Lydia thought resentfully.

"Because I work twelve-hour shifts." Melissa smirked, taking a seat on the couch.

"Time is limited for me."

"Time is limited for me, too." Stiles remarked, and the warm feelings of the group went ice cold.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Bad joke." He murmured, eyes downcast.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence.

"Don't worry, you're full of bad jokes." Scott smiled and nudged his shoulder, and the jovial feeling slowly returned.

Once they were all settled in the living room, Melissa pulled out a pen and pad of paper, various medical supplies, and a voice recorder.

"May the second, Saturday morning, 9 am. Okay guys, let's get started. Stiles, how was your week?"

"Good." He said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

"I-uh, I went for a walk on Tuesday." He turned to Lydia and gave her a small smile.

"I also made dinner the other night, and we visited Deaton about a week ago as well."

"Sounds like a good week!" Melissa remarked, scribbling notes down.

Lydia waited for him to say what happened last night, but he didn't.

Don't make me do it. She thought, and he looked up at her, imploringly. As if hearing her thoughts.

"He wasn't feeling too well last night." She spoke, keeping her eyes locked on his.

"Damn it, Lydia!" He exclaimed suddenly, startling everyone.

"Stiles?" Melissa asked, turning her worried brown eyes to his own.

"Are you honestly frustrated with me telling an important detail?!" Lydia exclaimed back, head throbbing.

"It's not important in the grand scheme of the week!" He growled, throwing his body back into the cushion of the couch. Malia picked up his hand and tried to squeeze it, but he pulled it back to his side.

Melissa looked to Lydia.

"Last night he was vomiting for quite some time. I timed it to be about fifteen minutes worth of vomiting, including dry-heaving. No solids, a few quarts of liquid bile. The bile was a dull yellow. No blood was present." She assessed.

They sat in uncomfortable silence as Melissa jotted down Lydia's comment.

"Wait, this was last night? Stiles didn't throw up last night." Malia frowned, turning to him.

"He did. You were asleep. It was about three in the morning." Lydia spoke quietly, looking down at her hot-pink pedicured toes.

"The devil's hour." Melissa remarked.

"It's also known as the hour of the wolf." Lydia finished with a smirk.

"Well that's ironic." Allison gave a short laugh.

Malia huffed and let her body fall down into the cushions with Stiles, arms crossed over her breasts.

"So you guys talked to Deaton?" Melissa asked.

"Yeah but nothing came out of it much. We're planning on visiting Mrs. Yukimura this week." Scott commented.

"Good. Let me know how that goes." Melissa began to put her notes away.

"Okay, Stiles, let's take your weight and blood pressure, and I'll-" She stopped, eyes wide.

Lydia's head whipped behind her as Sheriff Stilinski slowly entered the apartment.

He was out of uniform, in a plaid shirt, hands in the pocket of his jeans. His eyes were clear, and he had shaved recently.

When she left those notes, she was sure she was doing the right thing. But now, looking at Stiles, her certainty evaporated. She watched as his eyes widened and filled, his lower lip sucked into his mouth and his knees bouncing rapidly, up and down on his feet.

She could practically feel his heart thrumming like an animal, as if it was her own.

"Hey son." The Sheriff spoke, his eyes on the carpet, his hand rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

She watched Stiles get up, as if it were a dream, and cross over to his father. She wondered if he would yell, if he would cry. But he wrapped his arms around his father and leaned his weight into the Sheriff, as if he was the last solid structure in the world.

* * *

 

He was warm, she noticed, as she handed him a glass of cold water.

"What did you say to him?"

She turned to face him, bandage in hand.

"You're bleeding a lot tonight." She remarked, pointing to his IV site.

"Lydia."

"I suggested he visit." She shrugged, and placed the bandage in the crook of his arm, noticing a bruise that was already starting to form.

He reached out and grabbed her hand.

"I love you, Lydia. I've always loved you. You know that, right?"

He looked desperate, his eyes were fluttering, face flushed.

"I know." She whispered.

"Please tell me. I need to know, please tell me."

She breathed out, breath catching in her throat. She felt the weight of the world fall on her shoulders, and suddenly it became unbearable to hold it in any longer. A million thoughts raced across her mind. Her friendship with Malia, her history with Stiles, the last four years she lived without him. But nothing, no words or memories or thoughts could erase the truth.

"You know. You know how I feel." She blinked, beginning to choke up.

_Please don't make me say it. I don't think I can do it._

Lydia motioned for him to scooch over, and he wriggled to open up a space in his bed. She lifted the blanket to snuggle underneath, head resting on the space between his shoulder and his heart.

"I had a dream about the gender of Allison and Scott's baby." She confided.

"Are you going to tell them?"

"Yeah, I was thinking tomorrow."

They shared a silence, as he stroked her soft, strawberry hair. Stiles loved the smell of her hair. It always smelled fresh and clean, and like flowers. Even after years apart, she still smelled the same. It was a certain kind of flower smell that made him nostalgic, though he could never put his finger on what exactly it was.

"It's a girl, isn't it?" He whispered, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah." She breathed.

It hurt, laying there together, sharing a moment of grief for a life that had not come to be. They wondered how their lives would be different. Maybe it would be three of them laying in bed, instead of just two.

They never had the opportunity to know.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy, y'all. It's my longest chapter I've ever posted on any fanfic of mine. I tried to separate it into two chapters, but couldn't find an appropriate spot to split it. So, here we go. Enjoy! xx

 

 

_Sheriff Stilinski hasn't had a drop of alcohol since he found Lydia's notes on the bottles under the kitchen sink. He had reached down to grab the finely aged glass bottle of whiskey. If it was good liquor, it was worth drinking. Only lushes bought the cheapest brand of alcohol to get inebriated, he tried to rationalize. That's when he saw the notes, and his hand recoiled as if he was burned. There they were, on pink post-its, scented like gardenias. He immediately knew they belonged to Lydia. A myriad of emotion flooded his body. He was humiliated that she had found them, furious at her for daring to look and confront him about a problem he clearly didn't have, saddened that she knew that shadowed, hidden part of him. He sucked in a breath._

 

_Slowly, he peeled one off the lip of a bottle, bringing it close._

**_I love you, unconditionally. And he does too!_ **

_The words were simple, but there was something about them being on the bottle. Something about seeing Lydia in his mind, crouched down and quietly writing, her hair golden in the sunlit kitchen, desperate to get through to him...something about it was unsettling._

_He sat there for hours, next to the bottles. The pain of knowing he was actively avoiding his dying son made him want to drink. He never hated himself more than he did at this moment. He just didn't know how to explain, could never put into words how much losing Stiles would hurt._

_He had never understood his son to begin with. When Stiles was a child, he would run around and jerk his body in comical movements, making the Sheriff and his wife laugh hysterically. When he began to talk, he knew his son was clever. And then when he was old enough to be put in school, the spastic energy suddenly became a problem. Stiles' ADHD was anything but cute. Claudia adored him, even though he exhausted her. But the Sheriff was a meat and potatoes kind of man, a simple man. He had studied the disorder extensively. He tried so many ways to get on his son's level. To see the world through his ever focusing eyes. But he couldn't._

_And when Claudia became mysteriously ill, he saw how it had completely wiped out her zest for life. Saw how it made her want to close her eyes and never wake up. Saw how Stiles' own zest had been simmered down to a pathetic nothing. How it had wiped him of all desire and humor and energy. He remembered when the doctors told him it was called Frontotemporal Dementia, and he calmly walked to the hospital bathroom to vomit. He had thought he would never have to hear that damned name again. And as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the public bathroom, again he tried to understand. But he couldn't._

_The Sheriff was known as the go-to-guy when a mystery appeared. He could trace a criminal on a sole fingerprint. He could ruffle through the files of his mind, remembering infinitesimal details that seemed unimportant. He could piece together a puzzle that didn't even look like it was a puzzle in the first place. He had always been good at that. Always known how to solve a problem. Always, always, always._

_And as he sat on the kitchen floor as morning turned to noon, and noon turned to night, he tried to think of all the ways he was a good father. Of all the ways he hadn't let his son down. All the ways he could possibly make it up to him, explain to him, love him._

_But he couldn't._

* * *

 

"Doesn't that feel so nice?" Lydia asked, as she swiped blush across Allison's porcelain cheeks.

"Yeah." Allison breathed, the ultra-soft brush kissing her face.

"Malia, you've got to feel this. Lydia has the best makeup brushes I've ever felt." Allison called to her friend, who was flipping through a magazine on her bed.

"Pass."

"Oh come on! If we're going out, I want us to get all dolled up!"

"It's only brunch. I don't even like fancy french toast and fancy orange juice." Malia rolled her eyes.

"You mean mimosas?" Lydia interjected.

"Whatever."

"Just come here." Allison said, getting out of her chair and pulling Malia to her feet.

"Go on, sit down. Lydia, do Malia's makeup."

Malia sat down and slowly brought her eyes to Lydia's. They were both clearly uncomfortable. It was a little awkward, and Lydia tried to silently communicate that to Allison through a look, but it seemed as if she was adamant about forcing the two to be friends.

Were they friends?

Lydia considered the possibility. She supposed she would consider Malia an acquaintance, only made by constant contact with one another. If this was high school, and they didn't have the same friend group, she would roll her eyes at Malia's incompetence. Would feel threatened by her effortless sex appeal. Would glare as she dragged Stiles by the hand down the hallway.

She wasn't sure what Malia considered her to be. She didn't want to know.

"You have great cheeks." Lydia offered, as she slowly brushed a glowy peach color across Malia's tanned skin.

"Thanks." Malia responded tightly.

It was silent for a moment as Malia sat under Lydia's skillful hands.

"I'm not going to put a lot of makeup on you, because you don't need it."

"I know."

Lydia looked to Allison, exasperated. But Allison just feigned ignorance, casually flipping through Malia's discarded magazine.

Malia really was beautiful, Lydia decided, as she brushed a bronze shadow across her eyelid. Maybe some mascara and peach colored lip would suit her, and that was all she needed to complete the look.

It felt weird to hold Malia's face in her hand. Her skin was super soft, and almost burning under her touch. She wondered if she was hot blooded because she was a werecoyote, or because she was a hot blooded human, and a bubble of laughter almost escaped. Everything about this moment was ridiculous.

She was finishing up putting lipstick on her lips when the Stiles appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, uh-" He stammered, blushing and looking from Malia to Lydia, as they both looked up at him. Lydia dropped her hands quickly, as if she was caught in an illegal act.

"Sorry, I...are you guys going somewhere?"

"Brunch!" Allison said cheerily from the bed. "Do you need help with something?"

"Oh, no…" Stiles trailed off, and Lydia watched as his eyes traveled up Malia's bare, tanned legs.

She wanted to scream, and immediately, a pang in her head made itself known. Her eyes burned as she turned away from them all, and crossed to the bedroom dresser, where her Tylenol sat.

"Hey, we should all go out sometime. I want to go to a bar." Stiles suggested, and Allison and Malia burst out laughing.

"Stiles, you're kidding, right?" Malia said, rolling her eyes.

"No, I'm not! Look. We'll go to a local one, okay? A quiet one. There will be seats, I can sit down. And we can all enjoy a good time. We haven't had a chance to all hang out and be happy for a while. It will be awesome!"

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not going. You're on heavy pain medication, you can't drink anyway." Lydia spat bitterly, her back still to them as she dry swallowed two pills.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence as they all digested Lydia's words.

"I won't drink, obviously." Stiles ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles.

"Look, I won't drink, you can bring the backpack full of my medications and stuff, and I'll even let you guys bring a wheelchair if you want! I just want to spend time with you guys out of these damn apartments!"

Lydia could tell he was desperate. A quiet part of her mind entertained the idea. He would be in a room of people, and there was always the possibility that something could go horribly wrong. But they would be prepared, and the pack needed a night of fun. They needed it maybe just as much as Stiles did.

_The last time you were drunk around Stiles, you fucked him._ Lydia's brain reminded her bitchily.

Her head began to pound. They were all looking at her for the O-K. If she said no, that would be that. She was Stiles' unofficial keeper.

She looked to him, and his eyes were unwavering. He wanted this. And she was reminded of that Vonnegut quote again,  _It was very exciting for her, taking his dignity away in the name of love_.

She knew it probably wasn't the best idea for his health, and a part of her wanted to protect him so she could love him longer. But she wasn't going to take away his dignity. Stiles' dignity was more important to her than making him love her.

"Alright. Alright, okay."

* * *

Scott pulled up to the modern ranch home, turning the key in the ignition off. It had been a while since he'd last seen Kira and her family. They had dated briefly, but split amicably. He had chosen Allison. It was always Allison.

He sat in the car for a while until Mrs. Yukimura's face appeared in the window. He gave a short wave and grabbed an overflowing manilla folder from the passenger seat.

"Hey Scott." Mrs. Yukimura purred as she opened the door for him.

"Hey Mrs. Yukimura. Is Kira home?"

"No, she's still at the University of Washington. Finishing her finals."

"Asian Culture, right?"

Mrs. Yukimura smiled proudly and nodded her head.

"I've made some tea." She gestured to a sleek coffee table, where a teapot and two steaming cups sat.

Scott smiled and they made their way to the couch. Once they got past catching up and the general formalities, Scott needed a refill, and as he poured them both a second cup, he cleared his throat.

"So. My friend…"

"Stiles Stilinski."

"Yes. You know about his condition I'm sure, through Kira?"

"Unfortunately. I'm very sorry."

"Well, I've asked to meet you for your advice. When we were in high school and he was, you know...uh...the Nogitsune? Well, his symptoms were mimicking the symptoms he has now. We know that it can't possibly be the Nogitsune, right?"

Mrs. Yukimura shook her head intensely.

"No, no."

"Well, I brought some of his files. I know we're kind of grasping straws here but...we thought, maybe if you took a look? Maybe you can spot something supernatural in your area of expertise?"

Scott watched as Mrs. Yukimura pursed her lips, unsure. He knew what she was thinking, and he knew it because he knew the truth as well. But she nodded and he handed her the bursting manilla folder.

They sat in silence as Mrs. Yukimura went through every single piece of paper, taking the time to read and nod occasionally. After an hour had gone by, and she finished the last paragraph of the most recent doctor's note, she looked up at Scott.

"I know what you're going to say, and I almost don't want you to speak it out loud." Scott whispered.

"But you need to hear it." Mrs. Yukimura whispered back, placing her small hand on top of his large, bronzed hand.

"Scott, this is purely medical. I don't see a trace of any supernatural evidence."

It was like someone had knocked the wind out of him. He practically could hear the crack as his heart and hope shattered. Without any kind of supernatural occurrence, their odds were stacked against them, even more than before. It was up to science to save Stiles, and science was failing them.

He knew the truth now, and finally, finally acknowledged it. Stiles was going to die.

"I-" Scott's voice catched in his throat. "I.. made a promise to him. I promised him, the first time, before he became Void. I p-promised him I would do something." Scott trembled, hands shaking so hard he could barely take back the papers Mrs. Yukimura was handing him.

"I'm so, so, sorry. I wish I could help."

"No...no you have. Thank you. I should go." Scott said, quickly gathering his things and heading to the door.

"Take care of yourself, Scott." Mrs. Yukimura said, placing a hand on his back.

He nodded, and walked out the front door to his car. He opened the car door and climbed in. He turned the car on and pulled in reverse out the driveway. He drove and drove. The sun was warm, and he could hear birds singing in the midmorning. The sky was so blue it was almost blinding. And when Scott was about a block away from his apartment, he pulled off to the side of the road, put his car in park, and turned the car off. Everything was quiet. Scott screamed. He screamed so hard his head began to pound. He screamed so hard the veins in his neck bulged. He screamed so hard it felt like his throat was tearing apart. He screamed and screamed, and pounded the driving wheel with his fists. And then, when he couldn't find his voice to scream anymore, Scott allowed himself to cry.

* * *

Lydia went through her closet, picking out a pair of golden stilettos and a tight, emerald green dress. She had been told many times that the dress brought out her eyes, and she chose it because she wanted her eyes to be the only one Stiles would look at tonight.

There were times when Lydia was disgusted with herself. If Lydia would have gone back in time to talk to her fifteen year old self, she wouldn't even know where to begin. Certainly, her young self would never have understood. She imagined fifteen year old Lydia huffing and puffing, and throwing her hair over her shoulder. Rolling her eyes and repeating, ' _Get it together! You could have anyone, Lyds. ANYONE._ ' And she would say, ' _I know that. I know. But I want HIM.'_

No, fifteen year old Lydia would never understand. Hell, Lydia didn't even understand it now. Sometimes she wished she never met Stiles. And she knew that sometimes Stiles felt the same about her. It was exhausting, being one soul inhabiting two different bodies.

* * *

"I think I want to wear this one." Allison said, pulling out a dark blue dress.

"Yes! Your skin looks amazing in that dress." Lydia remarked, already on the hunt for matching shoes. The girls were all getting ready together in Allison's room, Lydia half dressed and in the middle of curling Malia's hair.

"Hold on Malia, I just want to...aha!" She cried triumphantly, pulling a pair of black booties from the back of Allison's closet. They all laughed together, even Malia. It felt good.

Stiles was right, they all needed this.

Lydia went back to Malia, setting the rest of her fine, dark-blonde hair in loose curls. Malia thanked her and put on a pair of converse. She was wearing her typical outfit of shorts and chose a shirt that hung off her golden shoulders, but she looked great.

Lydia turned to the mirror, rubbing mousse through her hands and fluffing her hair with it, letting it get its big, natural waves. With a delicate hand, she applied blush, rosy lip gloss, and mascara to her thick, long lashes.

"You look so romantic, Lydia." Allison sighed, reaching out to touch Lydia's soft, long hair.

"Thank you." Lydia grinned as she strapped her pedicured toes in her strappy heels.

They all looked great, and they all felt great. Something about playing upbeat music and getting dolled for a night out gives girls an ego boost.

Scott knocked on the door, smiling as he entered the room. He said something and Allison shouted, "What?!" as she lowered the volume of the music.

"Sorry, I think I'm losing my voice." Scott rasped, "I said, wow you guys look great! Ready to go?"

They girls grinned and gathered their purses, giving themselves a final once over in the mirror before heading out the door.

* * *

As they all piled in the car, Stiles in the passenger seat and the girls in the back, Lydia double-checked the contents of the emergency medical backpack, and confirmed with Scott that Stiles' wheelchair was indeed in the trunk of the car. She reached forward to hand Stiles a bottle of water and a plastic bag with a few pills in it.

"Take these and you should be good to go for the night until we get home."

Stiles took them from her, looking excited. His eyes were bruised and deep-set, but his lips had a pink undertone, and his glassy eyes looked alert.

_This will be good for him._ Lydia reminded herself.

She crossed her legs and observed Stiles as he chugged down the water. Both he and Scott were dressed in button ups, Scott's a deep purple, and Stiles' a deep blue. They looked good. Really good. And their subtle cologne made Lydia want to smell their necks.

"We're gonna have a great night! Let's go!" Scott grinned, turning the radio up and pulling out of the apartment complex.

* * *

The place they chose was about twenty minutes out of Beacon Hills, called  _Hunger_ .

As Lydia's eyes adjusted to the dark room, she saw it was moderately sized, fun but not too crazy or full of drunk college kids. She did a quick sweep, making sure to find all the exits, and taking note of the ample seating.

"Hey baby, can I buy you a drink?" A tall man, mid-thirties approached her, oblivious to the group she was with.

"Hey baby, can you give me a second to get through the door? I only just got here!" Lydia rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder, a habit she had whenever agitated.

"Jeez, bitch." He muttered, turning back into the crowd.

"What a dick." Allison frowned.

"Oh, being beautiful is such a burden!" Scott laughed, shaking his head.

"Whatever, let's get a booth." Lydia smirked. She was used to men approaching her, and it hadn't been the first and certainly not the last time someone had called her a bitch. Especially by men who she rejected.

Scott, Stiles, Malia and Allison followed Lydia to a dark booth in the most private, secluded corner of the building.

"This is perfect." Scott remarked, and slid into the seat. Stiles slid in next to him, nodding and smiling. Lydia couldn't remember the last time she saw him smiling.

"I'm going to get some drinks!" Malia spoke over the music.

"I'll help!" Lydia said, getting up from her seat.

They snaked their way through the crowd of people on the dance floor to the bar, where Malia ordered three rum and cokes.

"No, cancel that order!" Lydia told the bartender, who nodded.

"What the hell!" Malia scowled, turning to her for an explanation.

"Malia, you don't have to order your own drinks!" Lydia laughed. "Watch this!" She pulled her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck, and leaned forward on the bar top, her breasts spilling over her top. She didn't have to wait long.

"Compliments of the man in the red." The bartender smirked, sliding a cosmo in front of Lydia. Lydia looked over to bat her lashes at a random man in a red top, before taking a sip.

"Holy shit." Malia gaped. "Do you think he'll buy me a slice of pizza or something?"

Lydia threw her head back and had the first real laugh she'd had since arriving back in Beacon Hills.

"Malia, try it! Do this, just lean up on the bar, play with your hair and look bored."

Malia leaned forward, put her elbow on the bar, and placed her chin on her hand.

"Not quite. Like this." Lydia demonstrated, curling a piece of hair around her finger, and gazing up at the ceiling. "Act like you're hot shit and you know it! Pretend like you have a trust fund and Egyptian cotton sheets."

"What?" Malia frowned, confused.

"Okay...how about this. Make eye contact with a random guy and smile. And then don't look at him again."

Malia tried it, and when Lydia saw the guy's eye twinkle, she watched as the bartender made a drink she knew would be for Malia.

"Compliments of the guy in the gray t-shirt."

"Oh my God, it worked!" Malia cried, laughing as she clutched a glass of beer.

"How come they got me a beer and you something else?"

"Because they're used to reading women." Lydia smirked, rolling her eyes.

"I could do this all night!" Malia grinned.

"You could, but let's get some bottled water and ginger ale for Stiles and Allison at the table." Lydia suggested, finally putting in an order.

* * *

It was better than he could have hoped for. Stiles joyously watched as people basically air humped one another in a drunken stupor. He was here with his best friend, a trio of the most beautiful girls in California, and his head felt fine. He was a little worried the pounding noise might cause his head to start throbbing, but so far so good.

"So Stiles, how was yesterday with your dad?" Allison called, leaning across the table so Stiles could hear.

"Great! We drove to the lake and sat in the car and talked for hours. We both feel a lot better. He's visiting tomorrow!" Stiles grinned lopsidedly, and looked down at the sticky bar table, running a finger over the grooves of  _FUCK YOU LAURA!_  carved into the wooden surface.

"Now all we need is to set him up with my mom for a dinner date!" Scott said cheerily, bumping his shoulder into his best friend's own.

"We could say we're all going out to dinner and then have everybody not show!" Allison grinned wickedly, sending them both a wink across the table.

"Oh God, they'd be so pissed!" Scott howled as Stiles let out a bark of laughter.

Just then Malia and Lydia burst through the crowd, each fisting more drinks than they could comfortably hold.

"Jesus! You guys hooked us up!" Scott said, as they slid the drinks across the table. Lydia and Malia gave each other a sideways look before giggling.

"Yeah, something like that!" Malia smirked at Lydia, and Stiles' stomach flip-flopped.

Even though technically Lydia would be the only one to feel the effect of alcohol, Scott and Malia both drank the cold beer. Allison and Stiles gave eachother a sober-solidarity look.

"I say we pound these and go dance!" Allison proposed, clinking the tip of her water bottle to Lydia's beer.

"I say you're brilliant and absolutely right!" Lydia threw an arm around her shoulders and kissed Allison's cheek before taking a big swig.

"Lucky us, huh Stiles? We've got the most gorgeous women in the building sitting at our table. Do you think maybe the brunette will lower her standards and hook up with me later tonight?" Scott teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Allison across the table.

"Maybe if you're a good boy." She teased mercilessly.

"Wow, your girlfriend's such a flirt." Malia joked, but her eyes flittered to Stiles' own. She couldn't remember the last time they flirted with each other.

"Come on, let's dance!" Lydia shouted, and pulled the girls by the hands to the dance floor.

* * *

Stiles watched as men came, hit on Lydia, and were entertained for a song or two before being dismissed. He had to hand it to her, she could handle herself. She always had. He remembered watching her at middle school dances. She was always the one who boys whispered about in the corner, daring each other to go ask for a dance. He remembered watching her at high school, when she would steal a dance with a guy when Jackson wasn't around. Girls would call her a slut for her shady behavior, but Stiles knew better. He remembered watching her as he watched her now. He was always watching her. He could tell she made the men she danced with feel special, powerful. He knew this because he himself felt it when he danced with her. They felt great, until she ushered them away. He knew this because he also felt it when she did it to him.

Stiles remembered the night of her party, when he danced with her. The alcohol had made him courageous, and he could practically feel her calling out to him across the house, daring him to come to her. Just as he was feeling her now, daring him, calling out to him. And he wanted to. But Malia would appear next to her, smiling and grabbing Lydia's hips. It was kind of strange, seeing them smile around each other. It was even weirder seeing them dance together, pressed close. It was the weirdest feeling being somewhat turned on by it all.

"Stiles, you sick fuck." He murmured to himself, taking a swig of water bitterly.

Scott and Allison were currently bumping and grinding on the dance floor with Malia and Lydia, and they all looked like they were having a blast. And if they were having a good time, Stiles was having a good time. He had been a burden on them for too long.

Eventually, Scott and Allison returned, sweating and laughing.

"Oh my God, I can't believe Lydia and Malia are still out there! They're dancing machines!" Allison laughed, unscrewing the cap off of bottled water and taking a huge gulp.

Just as she said that, Stiles watched Malia lean over and say something in Lydia's ear, Lydia nodding as Malia journeyed her way to the bathroom. A slow song came on, and suddenly three men pounced on Lydia. She chose a broad shouldered blonde with a toothpaste ad-worthy smile.

"You should go out there." Scott suggested nonchalantly, motioning to the dance floor.

"Yeah. Yeah I should." Stiles murmured, using his arms to hoist his body out of the plush booth.

Allison and Scott watched him maneuver his way through the crowd.

"This is really fucked up." Allison said quietly.

"I know." Scott sighed, frowning.

* * *

Lydia felt him before she saw him, though she knew he'd come eventually. One moment she was being held by strong arms against a chiseled chest, the next she felt soft fingertips kiss her bare shoulder.

She turned to see him standing there, hands in pockets, mouth a straight line.

"Yo bro, can I help you?" The blonde growled, pulling Lydia closer.

"I'm going to dance with him now." Lydia said dismissively, turning away from his embrace.

He reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Babe seriously?! You're going to choose him over me?"

"I'm always going to choose him over you." She laughed in his face, and Stiles watched as her words stung their target. Damn she could play cold so well.

"For Christ's sake, he looks like he's dying!" The man yelled, gesturing angrily at Stiles.

"I am dying." Stiles laughed outright.

The blonde looked back and forth from the two of them before raising his hands.

"You two are fucked up." He muttered before retreating into the crowd.

They embraced, Lydia throwing her arms over Stiles' shoulders and his arms circled her waist. Stiles' forehead was cool as Lydia rested it against hers.

"We are fucked up, you know." Stiles whispered.

"Don't I know it." Lydia smirked in agreement.

They swayed, their bodies pressed together. It felt so natural, like breathing. Lydia didn't know how long they stayed like that, even when the fast song changed to an upbeat one, they stayed pressed together like their lives depended on it. She was scared to open her eyes, scared Stiles would eventually part from her embrace. If she kept her eyes closed, and kept Stiles close, they could always be this way.

Suddenly, a scream startled them, both of their eyes snapping open and looking at each other in fear.

"Someone call 911! My friend's having a heart attack!" A girl cried, running to the nearest exit, her friend held under the crook of her arm.

Lydia and Stiles shared a look before chasing them to the exit, into the cool night air. The girl who screamed for 911 was openly sobbing, as her friend hyperventilated, pressing her hand to her chest.

Lydia bent down in front of the girl. She looked younger, maybe just nineteen.

"What does it feel like?" She shouted, grabbing the girl's face and forcing her to make eye contact.

"Heart..pounding, c-can't breathe…" The girl sobbed as she sucked air rapidly in and out.

"Hey, get off her!" The friend called, moving forward, but just then, Scott and the rest of the pack arrived.

"Let her!" Scott yelled, placing an arm out to hold the hysterical girl back.

"She knows what she's doing, she's a doctor!"

Technically speaking she was, but it wasn't that kind of doctor. Lydia let it slide.

Lydia took two fingers, holding it to the young girl's neck.

"You're not having a heart attack!" She told the young girl. "It's a panic attack."

Stiles moved forward, reaching out to touch the young girl's shoulder.

"Hold your breath!" He suggested, crouching down, "You need to hold your breath to stop the panic attack."

"NO!" Lydia cried out, pushing his hand off her shoulder.

"No, don't hold your breath! It's impossible and you might panic more. Here." She hiked her tight dress up, and sat on the curb behind the girl, straddling her.

She could practically feel everyone's eyes bulging out of their heads behind her.

"Breathe with me." She whispered into her ear, as she pushed the girl's back to her chest.

"In." She inhaled.

"Out." She exhaled.

Lydia and the young girl repeated this over and over, until eventually the girl stopped hyperventilating, save for a hiccup here and there.

"Molly, are you okay?" Her friend asked, bending her mascara stained cheeks down to the entwined girls on the curb of the sidewalk.

"Y-yeah." Molly exhaled, breath shuddering.

Slowly, Lydia got up, pulling her dress back down and giving the young girl she now knew to be 'Molly,' an awkward pat on the head.

She turned to see a small crowd of people behind her, her friends in front, giving her a proud but weird look.

"What?" She said flippantly, tossing her hair.

"Who are you?" The friend asked, reaching out to grab her hand as she began to walk away.

"That's Lydia Martin." Allison beamed, a smile on her lips.

"You should remember that name." Scott added.

The two girls looked at Lydia, again with that strange look on their faces.

"I don't think we'll ever forget it. Not for as long as we live."

* * *

 

On the drive home, Malia called shotgun and Stiles rested his head on Lydia's shoulder. She watched as light and shadow played across his closed eyes from passing cars.

"You told me holding your breath could stop a panic attack." He whispered just loud enough for her to hear, eyes still closed.

"I don't remember." She lied, and she felt a smile spread across his face.

* * *

 

Malia, Allison, and Lydia all freshly showered and in their pajamas, curled up on Lydia's bed. Malia in just a t-shirt, Allison in a short and shirt set, and Lydia in a silk nightie. The bed was only meant for two people, but they squeezed together.

Lydia felt Allison's soft breath ruffle her hair as she dreamed.

"I saw you dance with him. I know you love him." Malia whispered into the dark, just as Lydia knew she would.

She paused to let Lydia reply, but Lydia didn't.

"Here's the thing," she continued, "I love him too. I know you may not think that, and I may not show it well. But I do. I love him, and he has been my whole world since I was seventeen."

Lydia felt like crying. She felt like yelling. She felt like getting up in the middle of the night and leaving in nothing but her nightgown.

She pictured walking down the empty streets, breeze warm and feet bare. She pictured walking with nothing but the street lights to illuminate her way. She pictured disappearing into the woods, walking and walking deeper into the trees until she disappeared entirely.

She wanted to explain to Malia that what she and Stiles had something that couldn't be put into words. That they were bound to each other.

_He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same._

But all that came out was, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." Malia whispered, and she heard her sniff, "I know you are, Lydia."

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. You guys, I'm so sorry for the delay! Here's where I spew excuses and apologies: I finished college, my boyfriend got into grad school so we've been busy researching and preparing to move across the country, I've been on road trips and vacays, and I'm really really sorry!! But hey, it's here, and it's a dark one.... 
> 
> AND CAN WE TALK ABOUT ALL THE STYDIA STUFF THAT'S BEEN HAPPENING FOR A HOT MINUTE?! That trailer, those interviews, and all those hints about what is to come. You guys, the fandom has risen from the grave, tumblr is going crazy, and Stydia WILL BE CANON MARK MY WORDS OR JEFF DAVIS IS GOING TO FIND HIMSELF ON A HITLIST. 
> 
> Whew. xx

Scott's mouth was hanging open, eyes wide in reverence.  _A girl. A baby girl._  There was a baby girl growing in the stomach of the person he loved most in the whole world. He watched as Allison threw her arms around Lydia's small shoulders and openly sobbed with joy. Never, never in his life could he imagine,  _dream_ , that he could feel the way he did at this moment. He remembered their ups and downs, breaking up and reuniting. Crashing together over and over again like waves, never knowing that their story was something bigger than themselves. Never knowing there was an entire ocean of history that would await them. Scott felt like a wave again, only instead of fearing the crash of the shore, the end of his time, it finally felt like a beginning.

* * *

 

Lydia was grinning from ear to ear. Telling Scott and Allison the gender of their baby had given her optimism for the new day. It was already a beautiful one. The sun was shining, the pack was all eating breakfast at the table together, and even Derek was there cracking a joke or two. Everyone was in good spirits.

Lydia turned to set a bowl in front of Stiles for his favorite cereal, briefly noticing how his brown locks hung limp against his forehead. She watched as a lopsided smile flashed across his lips at a funny comment, before disappearing. She could tell he wasn't feeling very well this morning, so she poured the cereal and milk for him, letting him veg out for a moment. He turned to give her an appreciative look, and he squeezed her knee under the table.

"Hey Lyds can you hand me the...uh," Stiles started, before scratching above his eyebrow with his thumb. "Uh...the...uh…." he stuttered, trailing off.

Suddenly all eyes were on him and the table comradery was instantly silenced. He looked to her for help, and began gesturing with his hands.

"I need...I need...to eat...the, um…" he tried to formulate the word, and sucked in a breath as his head began to pound.

Lydia quickly reached for a spoon across the table, handing it to him with a whimper.

"Yeah, thanks." he muttered, embarrassed as he took the utensil from her fingertips.

"Oh my God," Allison exclaimed suddenly, "Oh Lydia, Lydia are you okay?"

Lydia glanced at her, confused. "Yeah, I'm fine. My head just hurts a little." she said, brows furrowed, and became alarmed as Scott jumped up from his seat to swiftly cross to her side, napkin in hand. He pushed the cloth to her face, alarmed. "Lydia, you're bleeding."

"What?!" she squeaked, suddenly aware of the warm liquid now oozing from her nose, staining the white cloth a deep crimson.

Stiles took the cloth from Scott's hand, continuing to hold it over her nose.

"She's never had a nosebleed before." he said worriedly, turning to Allison.

"It's not a big deal you guys, it's just a nosebleed." Malia offered, and Derek shifted beside her.

"It's always a lot scarier than it actually is." he said, reaching across the table to squeeze Lydia's shoulder. Lydia was startled at the sudden appearance of her own blood, but she nodded in agreement.

"I'm fine you guys, just a little caught off g-" she gagged, suddenly. Stiles shot up from his seat beside her. Blood had rushed into her mouth, hot and metallic. The wetness of her own sticky blood in her mouth instantly made her feel nauseous. As if reading her mind, Stiles ran across the room to grab the kitchen trashcan, placing under her head. She spit out the blood and watched it splatter the white plastic like a Pollock painting.

"Oh shit." Malia whispered, sucking in a breath at the sight.

"Lydia, you don't look so good." Allison muttered, crossing over to bend in front of her friend. "We should get you to a hospital."

"No, just wait a minute." Lydia breathed, taking the now completely red cloth from Stiles' hand, brushing her delicate fingertips across his long fingers and continuing to apply pressure to her nose. "Please, let's not be hasty here. If I don't stop bleeding in five minutes, I'll go."

She watched as they all looked at each other, and then to Scott for the final verdict.

"Five minutes, Lydia. If you're still bleeding, we're going."

* * *

 

They had replaced the cloth with another, and she was continuously gagging and spitting into the garbage. Stiles was rubbing comforting circles on her lower back, and she was reminded of when only a week or so ago she was doing the same to him when she found him vomiting in the middle of the night.

"Oh no!" she groaned, and the pack all shot forward to help. "My Louboutins!" she whined, as she toed off her heel, already a bloody casualty from her nosebleed.

Stiles let out a huff, and shook his head beside her with an incredulous smile.

"Five minutes is up, Lydia. Time to go." Scott said, gently bringing her to her feet while Allison offered a more suitable pair of footwear.

"You look really pale. And tired." Malia said, uneasy beside her.

Lydia forced a smirk onto her lips, "Really, honey, I'm fine. Just a little disgusted."

The pack was looking at her oddly, and she pretended not to notice when Derek murmured into Scott's ear that she had no color in her lips. That was never a good sign.

* * *

It was just Stiles, Scott and Allison in the car as they drove Lydia to Beacon Memorial. The ride had been mostly silent, and Lydia was content to stare out the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass. It felt good on her feverish forehead, and settled her raging migraine to a dull ache. Beside her, Stiles watched with glassy, heavy eyes. She turned to him and they looked at each other, the winding road causing their shoulders to touch and pull apart and touch again. Slowly he brushed his thumb on the underside of her full lower lip.

"Blood." he whispered before wiping it on the soiled cloth in her hand.

She blinked a few times and murmured, "You're shaking."

"I don't feel so well." he confessed, and she felt a sadness blossom in her chest, knowing how he rarely admitted the pain he felt.

"That makes two of us." she sighed, and pushed the cloth to her nose once more.

* * *

 

Melissa McCall was not happy.

"Lydia, I told you to see a doctor! I bet this has something to do with your headaches." she huffed, squeezing the bulb of the blood pressure cuff. In her heart, she felt something wrong. She tried to brush it off as paranoia. But she couldn't. Melissa knew it wasn't paranoia she was feeling. It was a mother's intuition, and it was rarely incorrect. She remembered feeling that same unease the day Scott broke his arm falling off the monkey bars at school. She felt it when she watched her ex-husband pull into their driveway and continue drive right through the garage door, breath stinking of Old Fashioneds. And now she felt it as if it was radiating off of Lydia. Something was up.

She quickly scribbled Lydia's blood pressure down on a chart before turning to the three sitting in the corner.

"Scott, Allison, can I speak with you?" she asked, eyes motioning to the door. They shot a look at Lydia before rising to exit the small room.

"You know they're talking about us." Stiles spoke, anxiously rubbing the palm of his hand across his mouth.

Lydia sighed and leaned back on the examination chair. Her nosebleed had finally subsided, but her head continued to pound something fierce. She had been examined by a random hospitalist doctor who had arrived right as her nose stopped gushing, before telling her exactly what she could already deduce: take this pill, get more sleep, drink lots of fluids, blah blah blah. The trip had been useless, though maybe she would be able to pick up the pain medication she'd been prescribed for her head.

Outside, Melissa pulled the two away from the door so she wouldn't be overheard.

"Has Lydia talked about her headaches to you two?"

Scott and Allison exchanged a confused look. "What headaches?" Allison asked.

Melissa sighed. "Lydia's exhausted. She's not sleeping well, and she gets daily migraines. Stress maybe? I'm not sure. But I feel like this is not going to be simply solved by medication. I've asked to send her to an MRI."

She watched as their eyes widened with uncertainty. Scott balked, "Mom, do you really think she needs an MRI?!"

"I-I really think she should get it. Just to rule anything out. A precaution, if you will."

"We're with you," Allison said, hand moving down to rest on the underside of her now noticeably protruding stomach. "We didn't even know she was in pain. She never told us…"

"Well, those two are pretty good about keeping quiet." Melissa nodded to the closed door.

"So Lydia will get an MRI. Mom, Stiles isn't feeling well either. This morning he didn't eat anything for breakfast, and he couldn't remember what to call a spoon." Scott wavered, eyes shooting back and forth. "And the other day I was talking to him and he asked about how Mr. Argent's sabbatical was going in France, and I told him it was going well, and that Isaac was really picking up the language. But he couldn't place who Isaac was."

Melissa sighed, breath shaking as it exited her lungs. It was not good. The frontal and temporal lobes of his brain tissue were rapidly shrinking. It would start like this, the minor memory loss. Then it would move to judgement, emotion, language comprehension. She had already started seeing the early signs of his symptoms, particularly emotional symptoms. He was depressed, this much she already knew. But whether it was a symptom of his frontotemporal dementia or his eventual death, she wasn't so sure. She remembered when he lashed out at Lydia when she said he had vomited in the middle of the night, and she had noticed how he was forward with Lydia, obvious even, often right in front of Malia. Behavior changes, loss of social restraint. Then would come spatial awareness, like getting lost.

' _Like when some strangers found him face down in a dark alley in New York City_ ,' she thought, shuddering. At least he had not quite started hallucinating. Once the delusions would come, she would have to tell them all to say their goodbyes.

* * *

 

The machine was loud, and immediately Lydia placed the noise. She had been haunted by that clanking noise once in high school, and like a bolt of lightning, she realized why. She wondered what it would be like when Stiles died. Would it be a peaceful passing? Probably not.

' _Since when has anything ever been fair for any of us_ ,' she remembered him saying, and it was true. Her life had its ups and downs, mostly due to the tumultuous relationships of her parents and that jackass she had called her boyfriend for the majority of her high school years. She couldn't blame Jackson completely, it wasn't as if she was innocent either.

However, regardless of the downs, there had been more ups. She was born brainy and beautiful, and she drew people in. She was blessed with advantages, so life had been relatively normal, until Stiles came into her life. When Stiles came into her life, everything went to hell. She had been brutally assaulted and left to bleed out on a lacrosse field. She had lost her mind countless times. She couldn't remember how many times she had to run for her life, breath catching in her chest and setting her lungs on fire as she pumped her legs as fast as they could go. She was threatened, grabbed at, growled at, hurt. She saw people ruthlessly murdered right in front of her very eyes.

_Aiden_.

But the fact was, she wouldn't change a damn thing. Nothing. Not even a fraction, because Stiles had given more than taken. Before Stiles, she was a walking, talking, shell of a human being. Empty behind the eyes. Merciless and dead. He had given her compassion, he had given her a cause worth fighting for, worth living for. She would never be able to return that generosity.

And again, she thought about what it would be like when he would die.

Lydia didn't want to go back to the person she was pre-Stiles. She didn't want to be dead behind the eyes again. She pictured herself at ninety, laying in bed, feeling nothing once more and it horrified her. Lydia could never imagine, could never fathom what it would be like to lay in bed at night and not feel that  _pull_. Not feel that soul, just on the other side of an invisible barrier. Not be able to reach out in her mind and touch base. To exist without a tether. Without an anchor. She knew with certainty that when he died, she would float forever, in a daze, a semi-existence. Just as she had before she knew him. She would float and float and float forever, and for the first time in a very long time, she closed her eyes and wished she would die.

If only she could take his pain. As the MRI machine pounded around her head, she bargained with whatever omnipresent spirit was listening. The devil, God, Bardo, Buddha, whomever.

_Let it be me. Let it be me. Please, I'm a nothing without him._

* * *

Melissa, Stiles, Scott and Allison watched from the glass barrier as Lydia laid silent on her back, red hair fanned around her face. Silently an MRI tech watched as Lydia's brain flickered to life on a computer screen. It felt strange to witness the event once more in the same place, when only years ago it had been Stiles in that same position and Scott had embraced him, promising to do whatever it took to save him.

Scott turned to gently place his hand on his mother's arm. Melissa kept staring straight ahead, chewing her lip anxiously. "Mom," he spoke softly, "I just wanted to let you know...it's a girl." he whispered, and watched as she turned to him, eyes wide as she began to register what he said. A smile started to spread across her lips, "A gi-"

"Melissa." The MRI technician said, grabbing her attention.

"Melissa...you may want to take a look at this."

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for any emotional distress this chapter may or may not cause... xx

 

_She knew no good would come from this, and even in his alcohol-induced haze, he knew it as well. Even still, Lydia allowed Stiles to take her by the hand up to her bedroom while the party raged on around them. When she closed the door behind them the noise seemed to silence completely. Suddenly it was just the two of them, standing close and watching the other with only the purpled walls as witness. Lydia felt like her heart might pound out of her chest, and she vaguely wondered when she ever started feeling that way around Stiles._

_Her bed beckoned, plush and inviting. Before either knew what was really happening, their bodies smashed together in a collision of frantic kisses._

_Stiles bent over her small frame, hands tangled in her soft red tresses as his mouth moved light and panicky over her skin. Eyelids, cheeks, muttering promises into her forehead, sucking the skin beneath her jaw near her ear. She clutched desperately to his shirt, hands pinned between their bodies, breathing in and out quickly with eyes closed and lips parted. She was almost lightheaded from the feeling of finally, finally getting what she always wanted from Stiles since their first kiss: his undivided affection. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to explore the fantasies she thought about late at night. She wanted to push her body so close to his that they became one entity._

_Over the pounding of her heart and her own harsh breathing, Lydia only heard bits and pieces of his whispers across her face. 'You're so beautiful...I love you so much...I've wanted this for so long...'_

_When his plush lips met her own, she wondered how they had moved from her doorway to lying on her bed. His eyes were hooded and sleepy, and his strong hands stroked her sides in worship. She mimicked his movements, trailing her hands over his broad chest, rippling back, his prominent cheekbones, cheeks dusted with moles. She could feel her face become flushed as her lips began to swell._

_She felt about ready to burst, so she flipped him over onto his back and relished the surprise and appreciative look on his face. In one bold swoop, she pulled her dress over her head, feeling her skin hit the cool air as her hair fell in a frame around her face. She watched him take it all in. Her lacy peach bra holding her full breasts, heaving in time to the hammering of her heart, all the way down to her flat stomach and the lacy, itsy strip of fabric between her legs. His mouth opened and closed rapidly and she giggled, glad she still felt a camaraderie even in this exposed moment. He shot her a lazy smile, a corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. She grinned back and he trailed the pad of his thumb across her lip before pulling her neck down with a deep groan for more kisses._

_Lydia straddled his waist as she felt him push his hips to hers, growling at the pleasure he felt there, and she sighed with satisfaction, long eyelashes fluttering. His hands never stopped moving over her milky skin. It was as if he was trying to memorize every inch of her, and they left a trail of fire in their wake._

_He cupped her ass, squeezing appreciatively before she felt his fingers delicately brush the outside of her panties between her legs. She gasped as she lifted her head from his neck to meet his eyes. His breathing was labored and he looked to her for permission. She felt herself nod before their lips met and his fingers slipped past the feminine fabric to touch her sensitive skin. Lydia almost fell apart from just that feeling. She had always fantasized about his nimble, strong fingers late at night when she touched herself. Her own fingers had never been enough. Not long enough, not big enough...unsatisfactory. But now, now his fingers were on her, touching her the way she liked to be touched, and it was more than she had ever anticipated. She was slick with desire as his fingers moved in circles over the sensitive flesh before filling her completely. She practically screamed from the feeling of it as her body began to tremble. Stiles wrapped an arm around her back before sitting up, keeping her on his lap while she pulled off his shirt and he unhooked her bra. The feeling of his skin on hers after waiting so long made her sigh with relief. He felt so good, pushed to her. They melted into each other, reveling in the feeling of their skin together. Somehow familiar despite being foreign._

" _Are you on birth control?" he rasped into her lips, and she nodded before he pushed her face into his own. As a team, they unbuttoned and pulled off Stiles' jeans and boxer-briefs and Lydia couldn't help but stare as his erection sprung free. He was just as she envisioned, and it was beautiful. Stiles let out a shaky exhale as he watched her stare at his body with an enormous, reverent gaze. If he could go back in time and tell himself that one day Lydia would look at him like that, pre-pubescent Stiles would have a massive coronary._

_When they connected, Lydia felt whole for the first time in her life. They both felt the presence of something bigger than themselves, and it swallowed them whole. They moaned into each other's mouths as he he began to move, thrusting his pelvis up and between her legs, while pulling her hips up and down to bounce on his lap. She matched his rhythm, arms around his neck as she mewed with pleasure. And once more, the pad of his thumb moved between their bodies as stars exploded into her vision. Lydia felt the familiar pressure blooming in her uterus and her breathing increased in tempo, almost hyperventilating. She felt Stiles increase his speed as well to catch up to her. Before she knew it, her breathing hitched and she felt the tremble of her orgasm wash over her in wave after wave after wave, and with a low, drawn out "fuuuck," he joined her._

If she would have known what was going to happen, she would have used a condom to increase their odds, like any sane person would do in the first place. She could lie to herself and say she wouldn't have had sex with him at all if she knew then what she knew now, but she was too selfish to regret it. Even after all the pain it had caused at the expense of both his and her relationship with Malia, the pregnancy itself, and even when Lydia woke up in the middle of the night in Europe with sheets covered in blood, she couldn't take it back. She didn't want to. It was eventual, something that was always meant to happen, like a ship returning to harbor after years stranded at sea.

* * *

No one would speak to her on their way to Deaton's veterinary office. Stiles sat beside her, face white and frightened, tightly clasping her hands. Just by their body language, she knew her MRI had provided more questions than answers. Scott smiled at her in the rearview mirror before quickly dropping his gaze. Melissa was leafing through notes from the passenger seat, and Allison's head rested heavy on her shoulder.

When they arrived, Scott parked in the front row before silencing the engine. They sat in silence for a minute before he slowly turned to face her.

"I'm sick, aren't I?" she asked before anyone could fill her with soothing, empty words.

Stiles let out a choking noise from beside her before turning his face away to look out the car window, knee bouncing in distress.

"Yes." Melissa breathed, meeting her gaze with steady brown eyes, and Lydia was reminded again how lucky they all were that Melissa was Scott's mother.

Allison squeezed her shoulder, "But we think Deaton may have answers. Lord knows we have many, many questions."

Lydia tried to give a tight-lipped smile for their benefit, but it was hard to feign assurance when she already knew the answers.

* * *

They sat, cramped together in a circle in Deaton's office as he listened to Melissa give report on the MRI's findings and Lydia's current conditions. He raised his eyebrows on occasion, mouth parting, but remained silent until all information was given. Lydia absorbed the medical information as well, but when she heard her diagnosis, she was unsurprised. It had already been whispering it's name in the corner of her mind since leaving the hospital.

They all turned to Deaton, who raised his hands, fingers stapling together to form a point.

"I cannot give you what you're looking for, I cannot give a definitive answer. I can only provide what my inclinations may be about the cause of this condition, if it is indeed supernaturally-inclined." he spoke, turning his gaze to each person before landing on Stiles and holding.

"Anything," Scott begged, leaning forward in his chair with an intense gaze, "please, any kind of wisdom or guidance is very much needed right now."

Deaton sighed, rubbing his shaven head with a strong cocoa-colored hand.

"Do you remember when we performed the ritual to find your parents and save them from the Darach?"

"How could we forget? We had to sacrifice ourselves to the Nemeton by drowning." Allison shuddered.

"Well," Deaton continued, "do you remember how we paired you? Your partner was your tether."

Stiles turned to Lydia with wide eyes, and she found herself imitating his gaze. They knew where this was going.

"Stiles and Lydia are tethered. And while everyone experiences that anchor, that special person in their life, theirs is...different. To say the least." Deaton turned his gaze to the pair of them, who stared at each other before turning to face him.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Lydia nodded with a shuddering breath.

"Y-yes," Stiles whispered, "we both kind of...feel it."

"What does it feel like?" Deaton inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Like…a s-string. A string connecting us, always." Stiles finished, shooting a look at Lydia from beneath his lashes.

"Lydia?" Allison murmured, looking to her best friend for answers.

"It's true. It's like a pull. I'd feel Stiles, all the way in Paris. I'd be just, lying there, and I could reach out to him. Touch him from my mind. And sometimes I would feel him reach out and touch me, and it was like…" Lydia trailed off, blush coloring her pale cheeks, "like, a warmth. He knows things, before I tell him. I-I don't know...how to really say it. We never really discussed it. It just kind of...is."

She felt them all stare at the two of them, but couldn't fathom what on earth they were thinking. Were they shocked, trying to digest this hidden secret? Or perhaps they were unsurprised?

Deaton cleared his throat. "Your tether isn't just emotionally-charged. Anyone can have that. It's supernaturally charged. The thing with this tether...the pair occasionally acts as one. It's like, if you tied a rope between two people and one stepped forward, the other would trip and fall toward their partner."

Again, silence as the room tried to digest this new information.

"So you're saying-?" Scott asked, and Deaton answered.

"I think when Stiles got sick, there were supernatural side effects. Which explains why Lydia, who has remained perfectly healthy for the majority of her life," he turned to face her, his eyes deep and searching, "has suddenly and inexplicably developed Frontotemporal Dementia."

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I'm in the middle of moving across the country, and I've been living without internet for weeks until I move, which means all writing/editing/publishing is being done at my boyfriend's house. It's like living in the stone age.
> 
> Some general info about the direction of my works: you may have noticed I posted two new one-shots for stydia-fanfiction.tumblr.com. I hope you enjoy them! I'm currently working on a crossover of The Maze Runner and Teen Wolf, which will be interesting considering I've never written a crossover in my life! Haha. And after I've caught up on my stories and published a few one shots, I'd like to write some fluffy, slice of life stydia works. Something that's not so angsty and heavy all the time. It's going to be hard for me, mama luvs her angst. 
> 
> CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW BEAUTIFUL THIS SEASON OF TEEN WOLF IS SHAPING UP TO BE?!!?! Stydia WILL be canon by the end of the season, mark my words! xx

 

 

 

When Malia entered his room in the middle of the night, he already knew. She had been walking a tightrope for years, wobbling with every step, waving her arms wildly to keep balance. Malia was on the edge of a great precipice, but this time, she had made up her mind. She wasn't walking the tightrope any longer. She had chosen to get off.

"I'm so sorry." she whispered, and Stiles felt his mattress dip. He blinked, eyes trying to adjust in the darkness of his bedroom. She touched the warm expanse of his forehead with her cool palm, and his eyes fluttered from the feeling.

"You promised you would never leave me behind." he croaked, raising his hands to take off his oxygen mask. He hates how his voice sounds, weak and desperate. He still can't see her fully but he hears her shuddering breath and quiet sniffles, and there is a pressure on his shoulder when she leans to rest her head in the crook of his neck.

"I love you, Stiles Stilinski. You've saved my life over and over again, but you won't be left behind. You're in good company."

Stiles felt his heart break and heal and break all over again at her words. In his heart, he knew it was the end of a great period of his life: the end of Stiles and Malia. But even though tonight it would become official, they both knew it had ended years ago. Maybe sometime in the summer after senior year, when Lydia boarded a plane without a goodbye, and Stiles had never recovered. He loved Malia, just as he loved Scott and Allison and his father. He was attracted to Malia, because she was spirited and sexy and wild. Because she learned to fiercely protect her friends, to adjust in an environment that made it practically impossible. She was a survivor, a fighter, an adapter. And Stiles knew she wasn't done evolving. But she had been stuck in a repetitive loop: stiles stiles stiles stiles the pack, finish school, stiles stiles stiles stiles. He was holding her back. He wasn't going to do that to her anymore, even if no one would understand her reasoning. Even if she herself didn't understand it.

"I love you, Malia. Be careful, okay?"

Stiles knew she would return briefly to pay her respects as they lowered him into the earth. And then she would finally be freed. Maybe she would find her mother, The Desert Wolf. Maybe she would finish school. Maybe she would return as a coyote to roam the Beacon Hills Reserve. Maybe she would fall in love again and it would stay, and it wouldn't break her heart because it would be able to love her back, the way she deserved.

Stiles would never know, but he could hope.

He listened to her rise, and stand at his doorway.

"I just can't watch you die."

"I know."

Malia closed his bedroom door, and was gone.

* * *

Allison wasn't sure what to do. Things were getting progressively worse. Stiles had not gotten up from bed since they had learned of Lydia's condition. He refused all food, always saying he wasn't hungry. She wasn't even sure if he was sleeping. He couldn't look her in the eye.

When he would speak, it was in bursts of anger. He would ramble, hands trembling and eyes flashing. The other day she had found him trying to flush his medication down the toilet, and she was so surprised he was out of bed that she almost missed what he was doing. She wasn't sure if it was his condition making him act this way, or if it was just himself. Broken, scared, furious with the world.

Malia was gone. She had vanished into the night, without a word, a note. Stiles told them she would not be returning, and to forgive, but Allison couldn't help feeling abandoned. Scott paced their bedroom during the night when he thought she was asleep. Derek rarely left the loft. He told her the apartment reeked too much, and Allison knew the smell he meant wasn't dirty laundry or overflowing garbage. The Sheriff was over almost every day, trying to get his son to eat, occasionally forcefully hauling his body out of bed to shower. Melissa had taken off work indefinitely. She was there everyday, cleaning the apartment, monitoring Stiles' weight, threatening to insert a feeding tube unless he ate. She had become his full time homecare nurse.

And Lydia….Allison couldn't even bare to think of Lydia. Now that they were all aware of the power of their tether, she was noticing things. How deep the circles under Lydia's eyes became after Stiles stayed up all night. How she began to skip meals. How she no longer had the energy to curl her hair, or wear heels around the apartment. Her hair hung limp around her face, and she grew pale. Her smiles became more and more rare.

Allison did her best to keep her in good spirits. She brushed Lydia's hair, painted her toenails, took her out on girly dates to the movies or to get frozen yogurt. Most of the time Lydia appeared to like it, but Allison knew it was more for her benefit than Lydia's own.

She wondered what Lydia was feeling, what she was thinking. She tried to empathize, to imagine what it would be like if she learned Scott was dying, and that she would soon meet the same fate. She thought of it once, then never again. Even just trying to imagine was too painful.

If it was too painful to even empathize, Allison thought, imagine having to actually live through it.

* * *

Lydia wiped the foggy bathroom mirror with her palm. Her eyes looked even bigger than normal because her cheeks and begun to hollow out. She looked older, the bruises under her eyes now matching Stiles' own. Her beestung lips were puffy and void of color, and her collarbone had become more noticeable. She remembered when she first arrived, looking into the same mirror after her shower, and knowing how beautiful she was, consumed with what Stiles would say, how he would act. How long ago had that been? Two months maybe? That day seemed like a distant dream now. She didn't see anything beautiful in the mirror anymore. Just a ticking time bomb.

Deaton had explained that as Stiles' condition would rapidly deteriorate toward the end, hers would follow. The other day, Melissa had told them all they were at the beginning of the end. Stiles had about a month left. Lydia wondered how much time that gave her.

* * *

His hair was always limp now, brushing his forehead. He never looked at her anymore. The pack had sent her in to speak to him, shake some sense into him. Most of the time he refused to see her. Sometimes she would try to argue, but most of the time she was too tired to fight. He was confusing words now. He continuously forgot the word, 'wheelchair.' He mixed up his left from his right. He could count forward but not backwards, couldn't count down from ten. He didn't know who the President of the United States was.

There were days he never spoke, and days he would yell and scream and throw things. On those days, he was strung up. Vibrating, shaking like a string pulled too tight. His glassy eyes would flash, and his face would flush. He would glare at her from across the room, yell at people to get out, try to rip out his IV. And Lydia would march up to him, glaring back as she squeezed his wrists with all of her strength. She knew she was hurting him, but she didn't care. He never yelled at her, but his brutal glare was worse, and she would match it. Just glaring and squeezing as he'd grunt and try to pull away from him. But she wouldn't allow it. Stiles would never be able to pull himself away from her, even if he wanted to. They were tied together, after all.

Lydia would much rather see Stiles angry and fighting, than laying there, dead behind the eyes.

Today was one of those days.

Lydia had awoken to screaming from the floor below. She arrived to see Scott holding Stiles by the shoulders as he shook. Allison was righting his bedside table that he had apparently knocked over, and Lydia hated the sight of Allison, pregnant and on her knees, hunched over, sorting through medication that had spilled out of the pill bottles on the surface of the table.

"No, Allison, let me do that." she called to her, rushing to pull Allison up by her elbow.

"Lydia!" Stiles cried out, and the sound of her name made everyone freeze. He hadn't spoken her name since Deaton broke the news. "Lydia, you have to listen to me. I need to tell you something important."

Lydia stared at him, and he stared back, chest heaving and brown eyes burning.

"Please, baby, please listen to me." he spoke, suddenly gentle as he reached out to grab her hand. Lydia, Scott and Allison all looked at each other, a collective question mark forming over their heads.

Lydia pushed Stiles' body to the side, wriggling to sit down on the edge of his bed.

"Stiles, what's going on?"

"Lydia, I swear I'm not going crazy. I promise, but this is going to sound insane. I'm not insane, not yet. I need you to marry me."

You could have heard a pin drop.

Lydia felt his words go right through her, and it stole her breath.

"W-what?" she breathed, and beside her Scott reached out to touch her shoulder.

"He's hallucinating. He's been calling out for you all morning, my mom said this was the last symptom to happen before…." he trailed off, brows knitted together in worry.

"I'm not hallucinating! I know what I want. I want Lydia to marry me."

They sat there in heavy silence, each digesting his words.

Lydia cleared her throat, gaze never wavering from Stiles' own.

"Can you guys give us a minute?"

* * *

 

They talked about it in circles for what seemed like hours. Lydia wasn't sure what was more frightening, the fact that Stiles could be losing his mind, or that he made this decision in perfect clarity. In the end, it was clear which. Lydia called out to Scott and Allison, beckoning them back into Stiles' bedroom.

"Scott, please call our parents. Allison, could you please ask the nearest priest if they do house calls?"

 


	14. Chapter 14

"You don't have to do this. Are you sure you're alright?" Scott mumbles, blinking away the wetness in his eyes as his fingers fumbled over the buttons on Stiles' shirt. In his mind, he had envisioned this day for his best friend for a long time, knowing how much it would mean to him. He just never thought the nuptials would occur in an apartment the floor below his own.

Over the course of the day, he had brought down Lydia's suitcases, unpacking her clothes, pushing over Stiles' shirts in the closet to make way for her own. Setting up her stilettos and placing her toothbrush next to his. Rearranging, trying to find a space for her to fit in. It wasn't hard. Lydia would always be able to fit into Stiles' life. Stiles' once empty apartment now became  _theirs_.

While Scott prepared for her move downstairs, all day Allison had been on the phone, trying to find someone who could officiate on a whim. It proved to be more difficult than previously thought. Stiles adamantly argued that he was well enough to go somewhere to make the process easier, but they all agreed it would be the worst-case scenario.

"I've never felt better." Stiles nodded, and Scott could see it was the truth. Though his limp hair dusted his eyebrows, and his lips were chapped and face pale, his eyes were more focused than Scott had seen all week. He had rapidly deteriorated when Lydia was diagnosed, and Melissa had told them stress probably was the contributing factor. But today, he gained some life back.

There was a knock at the door, and the Sheriff entered. He was wearing a nice shirt and pants, and had the most painful expression on his face that Scott had ever seen. He took it as his cue to exit.

* * *

In the floor above, Melissa had taken over Allison's duties, calling various churches and court houses, as together Allison and Lydia composed a wedding playlist.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this right now. I can't believe we're actually picking songs out for your WEDDING."

"It won't be a wedding unless someone officiates." Lydia reminded her with a sly grin.

"Did you wake up today knowing you'd get married?"

"Hell no."

They both threw their heads back, nervous laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. If Lydia could freeze this moment, Allison with her dimples and dark hair, eyes closed as she laughed, just like she used to look in the passenger seat of Lydia's car, Lydia would be content forever. It was incredible just how much Allison had changed, and yet, not at all. Pregnancy really agreed with her, Lydia noticed. She had yet to develop morning sickness, if ever. Her cheeks were rounding out, her breasts had gotten bigger, and Lydia had teased her mercilessly about it. But she was still Allison. Still her best friend, her support system, her voice of reason. Both kind and fierce, and strong.

"I love you, Allison." Lydia whispered, suddenly struck with an undefinable emotion, as tears began to prick at her eyes.

"I love you so much, Lydia."

* * *

Melissa found Scott munching on a bowl of cereal in the apartment below.

"I wanted to give the Sheriff and Stiles some time." he explained, swallowing a big gulp of Captain Crunch as Melissa approached him.

"Bad news. I have yet to find someone to officiate, and it's getting close to late afternoon."

Scott frowned, placing his bowl on the countertop as he wracked his brain for other options.

"I don't know, maybe we should see what Lydia says." he offered, and followed his mother back up to the floor above, only to find Lydia and Allison crying in each other's embrace.

"Oh," he apologized, taking a step back, "Did we interrupt something?"

"No, no," Lydia smiled wetly, wiping her hands over her face with a laugh. With a start, Scott noticed she no longer delicately flicked the tears away as to not smear her mascara. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her wearing makeup. "What's up?"

"We're worried no one is available to officiate." he paused, waiting for her reaction. She looked at him with a tilt of her head for a moment before saying, "Call Deaton."

"What?"

"Yeah, call Deaton."

Together, Melissa, Scott and Allison looked at each other with confusion, but Scott whipped out his cell phone and punched the number in.

"Hey Deaton. Listen, I'm not sure if you're busy right now, but Stiles and Lydia are actually trying to get married, like, today. The problem is…" he trailed off, looking at Lydia who nodded her head vigorously for him to continue, "...The thing is, we're having a hard time trying to find anyone who can come here on short notice and officiate."

They all looked at Scott as he listened, before his jaw dropped and his eyes practically bugged out of his head as he looked up at Lydia.

"S-Since when are you licensed to be a wedding official?!"

Melissa let out a bark of laughter as Allison turned to Lydia with a shout.

"Did you know that?!"

Lydia shook her head, grinning madly, before giving her a,  _idk-im-a-banshee_  shrug.

"Guess who's officiating? Deaton will be here with all the paperwork and everything around six today!" Scott said excitedly, as Allison let out a ' _whoop!_ '

"I'll call some florists and some food places and see what I can do." Melissa grinned as she rushed out of the room, already making more calls.

"I can't believe it, it's really happening!" Allison clapped her hands together, and Lydia picked up her hairbrush.

"Guess I better start getting ready."

* * *

Melissa had instructed Allison and Lydia to take it easy and prepare while she cleaned and arranged Stiles' apartment, readying for the event to come. Allison had styled Lydia's hair and painted her fingers and toes a pale pink. Under their direction, Scott had left a few dresses in her closet for this occasion, and together they scoured Lydia's outfits for a white dress that could pass as a wedding gown, but everything seemed too stuffy. Too structured and expensive and cold.

"Have you ever envisioned marrying Stiles?" Allison asked, pushing past the heavy fabrics for the fortieth time.

"Yes, actually. Frequently." Lydia laughed acidly, remembering all the times she was alone in her flat in Paris, drunkenly thinking of Stiles.

"What did you envision?"

"It wasn't so much a color scheme or ideas as it was a feeling…" Lydia trailed off, absently moisturizing her smooth legs from beneath a bathrobe. Allison turned to her before motioning to continue.

"I guess...when I thought of it, I would always see...light. A lightness. A feeling of weightlessness, you know? Something soft and fragile. Really romantic."

She watched Allison pause before running out of the spare bedroom. Lydia quickly followed her into Allison and Scott's bedroom, where Allison was whipping clothing around her own closet.

"I know it's not yours, and I know we have different taste in clothing, but what do you think…?" she huffed, before producing a dress to show Lydia.

It was an ivory, prairie-like dress. The material was soft and silky, and it looked airy.

"It would be slightly off your shoulders, and it's a three quarter sleeve, but as you see the sleeves and back are completely see through. And then here, it would clinch at your waist and fall just above your knee." Allison rushed, pointing out the details before blushing.

"It's not too matronly, is it?"

"No," Lydia breathed, blinking slowly, "it's perfect."

* * *

There was one final thing to do. Lydia held the cell phone in her trembling hand, almost unsure if she even wanted her mother to pick up the phone, but to her surprise, she did.

"Hello?" Natalie Martin greeted, and Lydia felt her mother's familiar voice wash over her like rain.

"Hey, Mom."

"Lydia! Darling, how are you? I'm with Stewart right now, so can I give you a call back?"

"Actually," Lydia steeled herself. "Mom, there's something we just have to talk about. Now."

She listened apprehensively to her mother's stunned surprise on the other line.

"Sorry. Sorry, of course darling, of course. What is it?"

How could she possibly explain? How could she just unload years worth of secrets onto her mother who loved her daughter, despite both of their tendencies to abandon people they loved.

"Mom," Lydia sighed, and willed herself not to ruin her makeup. "Mom, remember Stiles Stilinski?"

"Naturally. He's the only boy you've ever brought home, and he said he'd take care of Prada for you. Nice boy." Natalie laughed, and the phone line crackled with distance.

"Well, he's very sick. And I'm not feeling too well myself. So we decided we're going to get married. I'm going to marry him. Like, now."

The silence was unbearable. She tried to imagine what her mother was thinking, and couldn't. Natalie Martin had always treated her daughter like an adult. She knew Lydia was as smart as a whip, and had her life together at all times. But this was above and beyond anything Lydia had ever done, or confided.

"You're sick?" Natalie whimpered weakly, and Lydia wanted to burst into tears. It didn't matter that Stiles was sick, or that she was even gaining a son-in-law...what had startled her mother the most was Lydia's own ailment.

"Yes." Lydia couldn't lie, knowing that her mother would understand the severity, even without it being spoken aloud.

"Marry Stiles. He's good for you. Take lots of pictures so I can see? I'll be home at the end of the month. I love you."

"I love you too, mom."

* * *

The Sheriff's hand was warm compared to Stiles' own cold fingers.

"Are you sure, son? Are you absolutely sure this is the right thing to do." he whispered with wet eyes, giving Stiles' hand a squeeze.

"Dad," Stiles blinked away his own watery vision to look at his father. "You know this is what I've always wanted."

"Ever since you were eight, she's all you ever talked about. I have no doubt you love her. I love her too, you know. But like this? In your apartment? Just...please don't do this just because you're-" he choked, tears beginning to spill over, "...just because you're...sick."

"I am doing it because I'm sick, Dad. I'm also doing it because I want to have as much time as possible with her while I can. We don't care as much about the 'where' as we do about the 'when.' We were always more than friends, always more than two people in love. I don't want to leave this earth without making it official. This has actually been a long time coming." Stiles murmured, throat raspy and broken.

The Sheriff nodded his head, understanding completely. It was how he felt when he first looked at Claudia walking down the aisle to him in a flowing white gown.  _This has been a long time coming._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever try to write something and it comes out sounding so mechanical and forced? Like, you just can't quite get the words to do what you want them to do? This chapter was tricky for me. Apologies if you could tell. 
> 
> Next chapter is the one you're waiting for ;) xx


	15. Chapter 15

“Are you ready?” Sheriff Stilinski whispered, brushing a loose curl away from her cheek. He was losing it already, and the ceremony hadn’t even started yet. But seeing Lydia stand outside the door of Stiles’ apartment in a white gown was overwhelming. She would be part of his family, ingrained in their lives forever, and even still, long after she and Stiles had left. He took a moment to study her with wet eyes. Her hair was loose and flowing in gentle curls, the top half of her hair pinned. Her cheeks were pinkened, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the rush of emotions she was feeling, or makeup. Her eyelashes were impossibly long and full. She was beautiful. He had always known she was beautiful, even when Stiles tugged impatiently on his arm and pointed her out across a sea of elementary students. But now, in a dress similar to the one Claudia wore at their wedding, looking at her made his heart hurt. She was so lovely.

Lydia sucked in a breath, tightening her trembling hands on her future father-in-law’s arm. He would be walking down the aisle with her to give her away, and it already felt right. He already felt like the strongest father figure she’d ever had. And she was grateful that she wasn’t standing outside, alone, at the end of it all.

“If...If this…” he started, trailing off to rub the back of his neck as he struggled to get the words out. “If this doesn’t feel right…”

“I love your son.”

He nodded, mouth tightening.

“I will continue to love your son.”

His eyes squeezed shut as a lump formed, raw and sore in his throat.

“And when we’re both gone, I think I’ll keep loving him, even after that.

The Sheriff studied her for a moment before embracing her in a gruff hug.

“I love you, Lydia Martin.”

She grinned a watery smile into the crook of his shoulder, giving him a gentle joke of a punch to his ribs.

“I love you too, dad.”

* * *

She had meticulously planned every inch of her wedding when she was nine years old, and then again when she was fifteen. There would be champagne and soft pink dahlias and it would look like straight out of The Great Gatsby. Jackson’s tuxedo would be perfectly tailored, and even though he never gave her much thought, it would be different now, because it was their wedding. He would be overcome with emotion, choking up as he watched her walk down the aisle toward him. Then they would dance the night away under a big white tent, with hundreds of candles and stars and he would hold her all night and promise to be good for her in sickness and in health to death do they part forever and ever amen.

She thought of that imaginary wedding every time he purposely ignored her call, every time he told her to shut up, every time his eyes skimmed a leggy blonde. And she would think of it when she pushed him to be the captain of the lacrosse team, when she made out with Scott McCall in Coach Finstock’s office, when her head ached from hiding her knowledge and she told herself it was all worth it in the end. She even envisioned that wedding for weeks after Jackson high tailed it to London without so much as a goodbye.

But it was shallow, and it had always been shallow. Jackson would never get emotional at the sight of her in a wedding dress. Jackson would never hold her all night whispering sweet nothings. Jackson would never be good to her in sickness and in health till they were parted by death. And she was thankful for it, because the reality was even better than what she could possibly envision when she was a little girl, or a girl who used to pretend she wasn’t crying alone in a bathroom stall whenever she slipped away during date night.

The reality was an apartment, surrounded by her true family, and a boy who had already promised to love her forever in sickness and in health, before either of them understood what that really meant.

The reality was Stiles Stilinski. The alpha and omega of her happiness, and her suffering.

She kept her eyes on his, barely noticing the white rose petals that lay in a line, leading her to him, or the candles that lit the small space in a warm glow, or the fact that Allison and Melissa were clinging to each other, tears rolling down both of their screwed up faces. She barely noticed Deaton reciting vows, and her own voice echoing, floating out of her chest as if in a dream. She barely noticed how time seemed to slip away slowly, and yet all at once. Because one moment she was entering the apartment that she had dreaded to enter over a month ago, and the next he was slipping a ring on her finger, and letting his lips linger over her own. And in that moment, Lydia finally understood that it didn’t matter how far across the globe she ran to escape Stiles. She would always be pulled back to him, humming like a red string, tightly wound. 

“I’ll love you forever, Stiles Stilinski.”

“Till death do us part, Lydia Martin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT THE END!! (Although how much would you guys hate me if that actually was the final chapter?! That would be so evil, and yet, so delicious).  
> However, the end is fast approaching. I suspect this fic will be wrapped up in...3 more chapters....
> 
> Sorry it's so short, but I really wanted to crank it out for you guys. You have been SO AMAZING with all your reviews, and well wishes! We're finally settled and I finally have wifi, IT FEELS SO GOOD. 
> 
> THANKS A MILLION, HONESTLY IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!! xx


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly encourage you to listen to Colors by Halsey while you read this because I listened to it over and over again as I wrote this chapter and I might have cried. Is that weird? Let's just pretend it never happened. xx

“Do you like it?” he murmured low into her ear, giving her hips a squeeze as they swayed. Gently, music floats around them, and Lydia takes him in. Dark suit jacket, crisp white button-up, top button undone. His eyes are on her, lashes impossibly long, whiskey eyes soft.

She holds her ring up, watching as the diamond caught the light and sparkled.

“It’s perfect.”

“It was my mother’s. I can’t believe how perfectly it fits you.”

His lips are slightly cracked but warm when she brushes hers on them. For years she had been dreaming and musing over his mother’s wedding ring, hoping he would give it to someone worthy. She just never imagined that person would be her.

Beside them, Allison’s arms are wrapped around Scott’s shoulders. In the corner, Deaton, Melissa and the Sheriff eat second helpings of food the caterers dropped off, occasionally breaking conversation to stare at them with thick smiles.

“You know what’s funny?” Lydia grinned, looking up into his inquisitive eyes. “We skipped about five years of dating and being boyfriend and girlfriend and jumped right into marriage. Like, I was never your girlfriend, and now I'm your wife.”

The corners of his lips quirked, and she couldn’t stop herself from pushing them again to her own. It felt so good to kiss him. They had never shared a kiss that wasn’t stolen, or didn’t leave them feeling guilty or heartbroken. It felt good to kiss Stiles Stilinski and feel nothing but joy.

“I would have liked to have had those years with you,” Stiles spoke thickly, “but as long as it leads to this, right here, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

She breathed him in, head dropping to the crook where his neck meets his shoulder, swarmed with a sense of deja vu, like she was fifteen and in a gymnasium with a date that had gentle hands and spastic shoulders and loved her enough to understand when she left him to find someone else.

He doesn’t make erratic movements now. She can’t remember the last time he rambled, the last time Scott jokingly calling him ‘motormouth.’ He doesn’t laugh or smile much anymore, but he still tries to piece together puzzles. Tries to keep his brilliant brain running, and she’s grateful for that. Because after all these years of feeling empty inside, he’s finally found all her pieces. Discovering her, revealing her whole.

* * *

They danced for hours, Stiles and Lydia occasionally taking breaks in between songs to catch their breaths and eat delicious food, warmed by heating trays. They watched as the Sheriff danced with Melissa, close and quiet. They watched as Deaton danced with Allison, and had a heart-to-heart with Scott. Scott dances with Lydia, Lydia dances with Allison, and it’s small and intimate and perfect. Gradually, Melissa starts to wrap up the leftover food, placing it in the refrigerator, and Lydia begins to notice Stiles’ eyes growing heavy.

The Sheriff pulls him out of the room to have a moment, and Deaton sits in Stiles’ recently vacated seat.

“Thank you,” Lydia spoke, gratitude forming a lump in her throat. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for us.”

Deaton smiled politely, eyes unwavering.

“I’m sorry I was the bearer of bad news ever since you came back to Beacon Hills.”

She shook her head, looking at Allison and Scott slowly blowing the candles out.

“I married Stiles. I would hear it a thousand times over if resulted in this outcome.”  

He placed a soft hand on her shoulder, both sitting in silence for a moment.

“You’re nearing the end.”

“Yes.”

“Are you scared?” he whispered, and Lydia found herself unable to lie.

“Yes.”

Deaton takes her words in, mouth in a tight line.

“Don’t give up, Lydia. I’ve seen what I presumed to be the end so many times. Over and over again, I saw packs form and break apart, saw death and violence and thought the best people would be swept away by it. But goodness prevailed, despite my distrust. The universe requires balance, always. And to lose you both would be a travesty.”

She listened to his guidance, eyes running across his smooth face.

“Listen to yourself, Lydia. Trust yourself. Promise me that.”

“I promise.”

* * *

When everyone says goodbye, it feels strange. She would see them all tomorrow morning, but it feels akin to something final. Melissa kissed her forehead, Allison reiterates that she and Scott are just a floor above, even though Lydia laughs and reminds her that she’s been staying with them for the entire trip. The Sheriff embraced her so hard she felt her back crack and they both laugh through tears. And then finally, it’s just Stiles and Lydia. Alone in an empty apartment.

“Come on,” Stiles whispered, voice low, taking her hand and leading her to his bedroom.

* * *

 

Everything was the same, but different. His sleep apnea machine, the pill bottles on his bedside table, the IV pole waiting. Their lights blinked in the dark, whirring quietly. Vaguely, Lydia noticed Scott had added an extra comforter and pillows to the bed, her hairbrush sitting beside his Lexapro. She was a part of the room now.

Beside her, Stiles gauged her expressions as she surveyed the room before turning to him with tender eyes. It was dark, but they glowed in the dark, shiny and pink.

She felt her heart speed up deep in her chest.

Stiles’ mouth parted, and he raised a shaking hand to her skin, covering her clavicle to feel the pounding. He stood there, feeling her heart thrum like a drumbeat, until he let out a sudden desperate sound and crashed his lips to hers.

Kissing him was both familiar and new, and Lydia drank him in like an antidote. She relished his gravelly moans as she bit his lower lip, and when he gently sucked on her tongue, she felt her legs threaten to give out.

They breathed into each other, lips clashing and pressing, heat blooming deep in Lydia’s stomach. Stiles drew back, planting kisses over her eyelids, temples, in the dimples forming deep in her cheeks. Anywhere and everywhere, just as he had the night they first had sex.

“I love you.” she choked, breath heating her skin as she reached out a trembling hand to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“I can’t believe it,” Stiles let out a bark of laughter, and it startled Lydia so much she practically fell over at the sound. “I can’t believe it. I married Lydia Martin. Lydia Fucking Martin.”

She starts to laugh too, and they laugh together until water began to form in the corner of their eyes and they lean on each other for support. Until their tears began to mix together on their flushed lips, arms wrapped so tightly around each other, hugging and laughing and crying and kissing and Lydia swears she’s never felt anything like it.

“Can you do this?” she asked him, smiling, wiping her wet cheeks.

“Lydia,” he huffed, smirk growing on his pink lips. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to do this.”

 

The smooth expanse of his skin below hers clenches and expands as his hands trail up her legs, leaving fire in their wake. Lydia moves over his hips that buck and fuck up to meet her, and she knows she should be keeping a close watch on the sheen of his forehead and the glassy look in his hooded eyes, but she can’t help and be distracted as he raises a hand of lithe fingers. Can’t help but look at the veins gently raised, dark hair dusting his forearms as he palms her breast. She holds his hand to it, squeezing and pinching at her rosy nipple as her head falls back, savoring the feeling of her long hair tumble down the skin of her back.

She can’t help but look at the way his abdominals seize and push up to her, the trail of dark hair leading down to where they’re connected. Lydia can’t help but pant and let her eyes flutter open and closed, knowing that Stiles Stilinski is the best fuck of her life.

But this wasn’t fucking. It didn’t feel like fucking.

She can’t help but notice the way his breath shudders out of full, wet pink lips. Can’t help but take in the freckles and constellations on his cheeks. Can’t help but be burned by the whiskey color of his eyes, set deep in purpled circles as his gaze worships her body. Can’t help but let loose a whine as the hand moving her hips comes down to massage the sensitive nub of her clit.

Lydia can’t help but give in, clenching around the hardness of his cock as he whispers ‘ _fuck_ ’ and ‘ _come on baby_ ,’ murmuring encouragement as she keens and pants around him. And then he follows her lead, grunting and panting, holding tight onto the back of her neck, thumb trailing over her parted lips, and Lydia can’t help but see the way his eyes shut tight and wet as his head is thrown back and his hips arch and he spills into her, filling her in every way.

And when they lay down next to each other, wrapped up and satiated, she can’t help but wonder how long they’re going to be able to do this.

But now they finally, finally can, and because it's so worth it, it doesn’t seem to really matter much. Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you feel!
> 
> redstringbanshee.tumblr.com


	17. Chapter 17

“You repainted the kitchen.”

It comes out sounding garbled. The sheriff cleared his throat, trying (and failing) to mask his discomfort. He had not been in the McCall house for over a year now, since Stiles was diagnosed.

Melissa peered at him curiously before turning to pour coffee into two mugs. He picked up the one with the chip on the rim, and they settle into an uncomfortable silence.

“So…” Melissa drawled out. “Lydia Martin, huh?”

“Yeah.” he breathed, rubbing the back of his slowly reddening neck. “I have a daughter. My son has a wife.”

“Did you ever think this would happen?” she asked, raising the coffee to her lips.

He pauses to consider.

Stiles has always loved Lydia. Ever since he was a bumbling eight year old, rambling about a girl in his class with red hair who brought in a telescope for Show And Tell, so focused on jabbering about her that he walked into the same wall twice. He had talked about Lydia when he came home from the seventh grade dance, all loose limbed and bright eyed, saying how pretty Lydia had looked in her emerald green dress.

Stiles had called him after three months of living in New York. Life was good, he was acing his classes, and he missed Lydia Martin.

The Sheriff remembered trying to console his son who was humiliated that he was getting choked up over the phone about a girl who he was now certain he’d never recover from.

“Stiles has always loved her. And I think a part of me believed it would have to end this way. Because anyone who feels something like that, so strongly….” he trailed off, unable to finish.

“I knew Lydia would marry Stiles.” Melissa offered.

The Sheriff’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Seriously? I mean, I knew when she left for Europe she liked him, but I never...”

Melissa laughed, brushing her dark curls away from her eyes.

“Stilinski men are so obtuse. Lydia Martin was head over heels for Stiles Stilinski for _years._ One day when they were still in high school, she came over to talk to Scott. I opened the door, saw the look on her face, and it hit me so fast and so hard it was practically hilarious. Like a piano fell on me. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised it took this long.”

They let the unspoken words fall between them.

Stiles and Lydia are together, after years of obstacles, after years of separation, after years of fighting and doubting and fearing.

They entered the world, meant to be together.

And they will leave together too.

“I can’t lose him. I don’t want to be alone.”

Melissa closed her eyes, desperately trying to keep her composure despite the sound of the Sheriff beginning to cry.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Melissa, I never meant to hurt you.”

“You won’t be alone, John.” she whispered, reaching her fingertips out to touch the back of his hand on the kitchen counter.

“We’re never truly alone.”

 

* * *

 

They have a lot of sex.

It provides a nice distraction, breaks up the monotony of slowly sinking into an inevitable death. Melissa arrives around eight in the morning, Allison and Scott will appear around nine, and Lydia will kick them all out periodically through the day depending on how she felt, and depending on the look Stiles would shoot her from across the room.

Today it’s three-thirty in the afternoon and Stiles is staring up at her from between her legs.

“How are you feeling today, babe?” he murmured into the apex of her sex, eyes fluttering.

“Better now.” she breathed, and it’s true.

She had woken up in the middle of the night to run to the bathroom, vomiting just before making it to the toilet. Stiles had trailed behind her, eyes red and glassy, perspiration beading his pale forehead. It was humiliating, trying to simultaneously clean up her mess and assure him she was fine, all while dry heaving into the porcelain bowl.

He had stayed of course, despite not looking well himself. He rubbed gentle circles into the base of her spine until she stopped gagging. She eventually crawled back into bed, but he came tiptoeing back into the room about five minutes after her. She had the sinking suspicion that he was waiting for her to leave so he could throw up as well.

It would be comical if it wasn’t so sad.

They wake up late in the mornings, a tangle of naked limbs and cold sweat. They open one bleary eye to stare into the other’s bleary eye. He’s still wearing his sleep apnea mask. She’s been wearing a nasal cannula to bed, just in case. They stretch, poking and prodding each other awake.

Mornings are not easy. But for the first time in her life, Lydia is waking up with a purpose. Lydia is waking up the way she has always wanted to wake up ever since her knees were chilled by the concrete floor of the boys locker room, hands shaking and eyes searching, absorbing the shock and awe crossing Stiles Stilinski’s face.

Even if it meant the mornings were numbered.

They try to keep busy, begging Allison and Melissa to let them complete mindless tasks. Laundry, cooking.

Usually they wordlessly take turns. Stiles will stir the spaghetti sauce, feel dizzy, look to Lydia. Lydia will tag in, Stiles takes a seat in her newly evacuated chair.

Lydia will fold socks, and be momentarily blinded by a throbbing headache. She’ll close her eyes. Stiles will take the socks from her hands, continuing to fold it for her.

They have a very limited amount of energy, so they try to conserve for the more important activities.

Like fucking.

Lydia keens, back arching as Stiles slips a second finger into her. There are so many things in life to be thankful for. Sometimes it’s hard for Lydia to have gratitude when she wakes up feeling especially sick. Or like the day before, when she forgot something as rudimentary as the Pythagorean Theorem. But every time Stiles uses his tongue to massage her clit, she finds herself suddenly reverent.

 

* * *

 

He dreams of the Nemeton.

It called to him from the depths in the dark, beckoning, reaching out for him.

Stiles shot up, eyes wildly scanning the room before falling on Lydia. She heaves, combing back the hair that has stuck to the perspiration of her forehead. She looks just as disheveled and shaken as he guesses he does.

Lydia rips off her nasal cannula as Stiles pushes down his oxygen mask.

“The Nemeton!” they croak simultaneously.

  
  
  


 

Allison’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel. She can’t remember the last time she lied to Scott, but Lydia had begged her to keep this outing a secret. So, under the premise of going grocery shopping, Lydia and Allison made their way to the Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic.

Deaton was waiting for them as soon as they arrived.

“Stiles and I had the same dream last night.” Lydia said without preamble, making her way to the back of the clinic while Allison and Deaton trailed behind her.

“Unsurprising. It’s probably a connection of the tether.”

“I mean, we know that I’m being pulled to Stiles because of the tether, but Stiles is being pulled towards me as well.”

“Well, yes, I suppose. You are one.” Deaton said diplomatically.

Allison stared at Lydia with scrunched brows.

“Lydia, is this why you asked me to come? What’s going on? What did you dream about?”

Lydia sighed, running her fingers anxiously through the stringy strands of her limp hair.

“Last night, Stiles and I both dreamed of the Nemeton. And we both woke up at the same time.”

Allison raised her eyebrows, gesturing for Lydia to continue.

“...the Nemeton was like, calling out to us. I feel like that means something. I don’t know. I just didn’t want to come here and have it be nothing and get Stiles and Scott all worked up only to be disappointed. I wanted to be sure.”

She watched as Deaton and Allison looked at each other, uncertain.

“Lydia,” Allison cleared her throat. “If you feel like this is something significant, I trust you. I mean, you of anyone would know crucial evidence when you see it.”

Lydia let out a sigh of relief at her best friend’s words. She felt ridiculous, really. Scrambling for straws in desperation. Hopelessly searching for anything they might have possibly overlooked.

“Would you consider this to be a banshee feeling?” Deaton moved to gently close the door behind her, beckoning her to stand next to the metal surgical table.

“...I don’t know.” Lydia breathed, eyes fluttering. “I haven’t had much banshee stuff going on for a while.”

“When was the last time your banshee abilities appeared?”

“Well, they started the night Scott called me and told me to come home to Beacon Hills. All of a sudden I was wide awake and the phone was in my hand and I just knew it was about Stiles.”

Allison interjected, “And then there was the time you told us the sex of the baby.”

“Yeah,” Lydia nodded. “Yeah, I had a dream that Allison and Scott’s baby was a girl. And I somehow knew you were certified to officiate weddings. Don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“And that time when you brought Stiles back to life when you put your forehead on his.”

Lydia scoffed.

“I’m not entirely convinced that was a banshee thing. It was most likely probability or coincidence.”

“Sometimes,” Deaton offered, “these things can manifest themselves in ways that are unfamiliar. We still don’t know the extent of your abilities. Try to think. Your abilities don’t have to be just random predictions or dreams. They can also be feelings. Since you’ve arrived in Beacon Hills, did you ever feel any emotional vibes or heavy atmosphere from someone?”

Lydia wracked her brain, trying to ignore the slow ache that was beginning to form. She’d never gotten an emotional vibration from anyone since returning to Beacon Hills that she knew of.

“I don’t think so.”

“Anything that you walked into that made you pause. Anything that seemed special?” Deaton asked.

Lydia’s head shot up.

“Oh my God.”

  
  


 

 

Deaton and Allison stood, watching her with careful eyes. But she couldn’t move. She was inexplicably afraid to turn the door knob.

“When I first came back to Beacon Hills, I went to visit the Sheriff. He told me I could look around Stiles’ room if I wanted to. But when I opened the door, everything felt so quiet and still, like an ancient temple. I didn’t want to disturb it.”

Lydia stared at Stiles’ bedroom door, feeling the humming energy radiate behind the wall.

“It felt like...an open wound.”

She heard Allison suck in a breath behind her, and suddenly Lydia felt incredibly out of control.

Everything ends.

Everything is born just to grow and wither away. But the end wasn’t painless or swift. The ending was long and hurtful.

It made her wonder if the end ever justified the mean. If living was really worth it if all anyone had to look forward to was a smothering, inescapable closure.

Lydia reached out and gently cracked the door.

“When is a door not a door!” Allison suddenly yelped. Deaton and Lydia whip their heads, turning at her outburst.

“Lydia, remember when we came home and all the doors to the apartment were open?! And you were saying over and over again, ‘Not a door.’”

They three of them simultaneously turn to look surreptitiously at the ajar bedroom door.

Lydia pushed it open further, and they stepped inside.

Everything was just as it was when Lydia first peered into the room months ago.

“What do you feel?” Allison asked quietly.

It was more like, what didn’t Lydia feel.

She was immediately swept up in a myriad of emotion. _Fear, regret, pain._

It echoed around her, pressing against her sides.

“I’m going to faint.” she said so calmly Allison almost didn’t believe her at first.  But Deaton acted, quickly reaching out to lead Lydia by the elbow to Stiles’ unmade bed.

Lydia brought her knees up to her chest, trying in vain to even her breathing, but it was pointless. _Fear, regret, pain._

She felt Stiles, alone, laying on his bed, staring at his bedroom ceiling.

She felt Stiles with tears sliding down his cheeks, his cell phone pushed to his chest.

She felt Stiles staring at himself in the bedroom mirror, counting his fingers over and over and over.

She felt Stiles take out a cardboard box from under the bed.

Lydia jumped up and swiftly fell to her knees, reaching frantically under his bed.

“Lydia!” she heard Allison cry out in alarm behind her, but then her fingers made contact with it.

Painfully, achingly slow, Lydia pulled the box out from under the bed.

She paused, and they all looked at one another, anxious and uncertain.

Lydia opened the lid.

There was a raggedy looking teddy bear. A baby jumper. A pacifier. A letter.

“The open wound.” Lydia felt herself choke out, tears stinging her eyes.

She wondered how long she would feel a pain like this before her short life ended, because suddenly death seemed more desirable.

Stiles Stilinski was collecting, gathering things old and new for their baby that never was.

“W-what I’m feeling...it’s Stiles. It’s all because of Stiles.”

Allison was crying silently, shoulders shaking, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Deaton let out a harsh breath.

But Lydia knew what to do.

“I know how to save him. I know how to save Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

The Nemeton, the bedroom, the riddle.

All reminiscent of when Stiles’ body had been abducted by the Nogitsune. But the Nogitsune was out of their lives for good. There was no possible way Stiles’ ailment was anything other than medical. But that didn’t mean his treatment had to be purely medical as well.

“There is no cure for Frontotemporal Dementia.” Lydia said hurriedly as the three scrambled to Allison’s car. “At least, nothing science has discovered yet. But what if I was given signs for his treatment? The Nemeton, the bedroom, the riddle. All things that affected Stiles when he was afflicted with the Nogitsune.”

“But I thought we clarified there’s no way--?” Allison inquired.

“There isn’t. The Nogitsune can’t be affecting Stiles.” Deaton confirmed, turning in the passenger seat to look at Lydia.

“He’s not affecting Stiles.” Lydia nodded. “But I’m not talking about Stiles’ affliction. I’m talking about a cure.”

Deaton’s eyes widened.

“...You want to go inside Stiles’ mind.”

“Yes.”

“Lydia, this isn’t the first time we’ve sought supernatural means to cure Stiles. Scott considered giving him the bite, but it would have killed him. He’s too sick.” Allison said, voice shaking.

“Allison has a point Lydia. Stiles is too sick--”

“Stiles is _dying._ And he’s taking me with him. We’re both dying already!” Lydia cried out.

They sat in stillness for a moment, listening to nothing but the purr of the car’s engine as Allison drove them back to the apartment.

“This is our only chance.”

“You don’t even know how this works! We don’t even know if this will cure him. What are you going to do when you go inside his mind? We know literally, nothing.” Allison sniffed, beginning to tremble.

“Allison is right,” Deaton agreed. “Stiles’ brain is diseased. You’d be walking into a sick, unsound mind. Who knows what could be going on up there?”

“He’s cognizant enough!” Lydia spit harshly. “I’m doing this. We’re out of options and we’re out of time.”

Allison whipped into the parking lot before cutting the key to the engine and furiously turning to face Lydia. It was like Allison punched her in the stomach, and they both glared at the other as tears began to well in their eyes.

“You can’t do this.”

“It’s already done.”

“You have to change your mind.”

“We have to try.”

“I’M GOING TO LOSE YOU, LYDIA!” Allison screamed, tears falling freely, face blotchy and red. “I’M GOING TO LOSE BOTH OF YOU!”

Lydia’s own tears fell, breath stuttering in her chest.

“Ally,” she whispered. “You’re going to lose us either way.”

They cried together, Allison reaching out to grip Lydia’s hand so strongly she began to lose feeling in her fingertips.

“Deaton?” Allison asked, turning to the doctor for advice.

Deaton sighed, concern etched in every inch of his face.

“This is not a good plan. But it’s the only one we have. Scott can serve as the middleman again. Lydia, there is a very slim chance that this will work, and that’s only because we’re lucky Stiles hasn’t started hallucinating yet. Once he starts hallucinating, his mind will be officially lost. Once he starts hallucinating, there will be no possible way to save him.”

Lydia nodded fiercely and wiped her eyes, pushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Then let’s do this.”

 

 

 

 

They practically sprinted to the apartment.

Lydia flung the door open with a crash that made Scott look up from his place in the kitchen, and Stiles came running.

“Stiles!” Lydia shrieked, throwing her arms over his shoulders and burying her head in his chest.

“Shhh, Lydia, shhh.” he hushed, stroking the back of her head.

“Stiles! Stiles listen to me, I have to tell you something! I found a way to fix this! Sti--”

“Lydia, shhh, you have to be quiet.”

“Stiles--?”

“Shhh, come on, I just put her to sleep. She’s been crying all day.”

Lydia froze in his arms.

She felt everyone behind them still in fear.

There was suddenly no oxygen in the room.

“Shhh, Lydia.” Stiles whispered obliviously, still stroking the back of her head.

“Don’t wake up the baby.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh!!!! Alas, everything is slowly coming together ;)
> 
> The end is near y'all! Sorry it took so long to post this. It's been a struggle writing lately, and I feel a little insecure about this chapter. I hope it's not too noticeable.
> 
> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> http://redstringbanshee.tumblr.com/  
> xx


	18. Chapter 18

_He’ll never forget Stiles’ scream._

_It ripped through the August sky, blinding and sharp. Scott remembers looking down at Stiles’ leg, twisted in a weird angle._

_“Fuck!” he shrieks, and it almost makes Scott want to laugh because he’s immature and eleven years old, and Stiles has been dropping that word so liberally even though Scott’s mom told him it’s a bad word so Scott has yet to mutter it._

_“Stiles! Are you okay?”_

_“What the fuck does it look like, asshole?!”_

_It’s the tears in his eyes that makes Scott clamber down from his branch of the tree, falling to his knees besides him._

_“I totally broke it, dude. It’s totally broken I heard it snap.”_

_He looks so green it’s alarming._

_“I-I’ll go get help!” Scott stutters, rising to his feet to take off to his house, only a block away._

_“NO!” Stiles panics, arm jutting out to grab at his sleeve. “No, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, Scotty.”_

_He knows it’s irrational, and that he should get help first, but Stiles’ eyes are so wide and scared and helpless that Scott stills._

_“I won’t. I won’t leave you.”_

  


* * *

 

 

His head is a warm weight on the bottom of her stomach, and Lydia rakes her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. If she loses herself in the feeling, maybe the bile that’s churning in her belly won’t escape.

Maybe if she squeezes her eyes, and prays her hardest to something holy, it will hear her and this moment will fade fast.

Melissa had told them to accept his reality as truth, lest he become confused and agitated. And Lydia had whisked him off to the bedroom to give him the privacy he would have wanted if his mind began to unravel.

“She’s so beautiful. I can’t believe you gave her to me.” he mumbles, placing a searing kiss somewhere below her belly button.

She tries to make a sound of affirmation or agreement, but it cracks in the dryness of her throat.

“I’m so glad she’s sleeping now. I’ve been trying to lay her down for hours now. But it’s such a gift...I can’t stop thinking...” he says, and when he lifts his head to meet her gaze, the gold of his eyes chokes her.  
“Let’s make another baby. I’ve always wanted this, Lydia. I’ve always wanted you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you in a way that scrapes my insides.”

  


* * *

 

 

When he falls asleep, she tiptoes away.  
  
They’re all staring at her when she exits the bedroom. Melissa, mouth pulled tight and hands twisted. Allison, eyes red and hand under her round stomach. Scott, mouth parted and expression pained. Deaton, still and sober as usual.

It’s the Sheriff's expression that kills her, and she has to look away.

For no reason at all, she’s reminded of the time Stiles had left daisies in her locker when she returned to school after the disaster that was Winter Formal. She had known it was him, and though it should have alarmed her that he somehow had broken into her locker, it didn’t.   
Lydia remembers Aiden holding up her framed drawing of the Nemeton… _For Lydia_.

Lydia remembers sleeping with Stiles at the party, breaking the news of her pregnancy to him only to immediately sleep with him once more.

She had boarded a plane to Europe when he was still asleep in bed, expecting to wake up and find her there in the morning light by his side.  

 

It was always Stiles.

And after years of one-sided affection, she was right there with him.   
She was as much a part of it as it was a part of her.

Lydia was equally as consumed and blinded by the brilliance that he had left in her life.

She was tired of running away. She had made a promise to him, in front of their friends and family and God, and she was going to keep that promise for always.

 

* * *

 

Deaton told her it was suicide, but suicide doesn’t matter much when their hours were numbered to begin with. So they don’t argue, because this is their only chance, and after all this heartache and pain and turmoil, it turns out there is really nothing left to say.   
Instead, the drive to the Nemeton is silent.

  
  
  
  
  
Stiles’ hand is large and cold in her own, and Scott can’t keep his eyes off hers in the rearview mirror.

Stiles doesn’t speak, even as they pull up and his eyes take in the sight of the giant tree stump.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They all walk over together, leaves crunching, breaking underfoot.

When Lydia sits down on the stump, Stiles mirrors her without being asked.

They take each other’s hands.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” Stiles says, almost sleepily. Lydia nods.

  
  
  
  
One by one, they approach them to say goodbye.

The Sheriff tells her to save his son, and that he believes in her. Allison tells her she’s her best friend, and the greatest love in her life. Melissa holds her gently and just rocks her.

They repeat it with Stiles, slightly variated but equally loving.

Lydia tells them to please tell her mother she loves her.

   
  


And then Scott approaches and sticks his claws in the back of their necks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> redstringbanshee.tumblr.com


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter listening: Dynasty by MIIA

She is in a dead space.

It’s a nothingness like she’s never known, blank and open. She feels her insides stretch to accommodate the empty air. For a blinding moment, she realizes she has crossed over, into a place where nothing seemed to hurt anymore.    
_ But if this is heaven _ , Lydia thought,  _ where is Stiles? _

It couldn’t be the end. She refuses to accept it. Lydia Martin refuses to accept an end in which they are both alone.

She walks, though the path is indiscernible and there is no clear forward. She moves anyway.   
  
  


* * *

 

 

_ There is someone here _

He feels a pressure like a wrinkle, a crease in his psyche. It’s an inexplicable feeling, one that makes him feel all at once overwhelmed and not so alone. 

He begins to run.

  
  


* * *

 

 

The space is endless, and Lydia feels she has been wandering for all her life. She knows there is a purpose to it all, a reason she is in this vacant planet, but as of now, the reason escapes her. 

She tries to wrack her brain, but all that comes forth through the haze is an echoing loop of  _ Stiles Stilinski Stiles Stilinski Stiles Stiles Stiles Stiles _

 

And then it comes. A noise, a something other than blank. Footfalls, frequent enough for her to tell it’s approaching fast, but not heavy. Lydia is suddenly afflicted with a terror that pulls, deep and unyielding in her stomach.

“Why are you crying?” A voice says.   
  
She turns to face him, all four feet of him. His hair is long and shaggy, falling over his big brown eyes, already possessing an inquisitive twinkle.  Lydia’s hand reaches up, touching the wetness of her cheek. 

“You’re here,” she croaks, though she doesn’t understand why this is significant. 

He scrunches his face up, giving her a skeptical look. “I’m always here.” 

She actually laughs. “Smart ass,” she says, and he smiles appreciatively at the swear. 

They walk.   
  
“You’re very pretty,” he says after what seems hours. 

“I’m a little old for you.”

“Oh no, are you eleven?”

“I’m…” she trails off before remembering. “I’m in my twenties.”

“Okay,” he nods very seriously, “And I’m Luke Skywalker.” 

It breaks her out of her reverie. Lydia looks down to white stockings and feet twice as small as she assumed. 

“Oh.”

He stares at her. 

“Oh.”

 

* * *

 

“I know you from somewhere,” she says when the silence grows too loud again.

“Miss Farrish’s class,” he responds, looking at his shoelaces. “You sit in front of me.”  
  
She nods like she understands, even though she doesn’t.  
  
“My head hurts.”

“Mine too.”

“Aren’t you lonely?”

He gives a noncommittal shrug. “Not sure. It’s always been me in here.”

“So why am I here?”

He turns to face her, and she’s hit with a familiar warmth that blooms in her chest. 

“Why indeed.” 

  
  


* * *

 

 

The dead space ends.

In it’s place is a closet door.

She reaches out, ready to turn the handle when he grabs at her wrist, stilling her action.

“Don’t,” he simply says.

“What’s behind there.”

“...Darkness.”

She turns to look at the unassuming door, the information making it suddenly more ominous and menacing. 

He examines her examining the door for a quiet minute before offering, “It was open. Once.”

They look at each other long and hard.

“It took a long, long time to close it.”

They turn to watch the wooden panels. The door watches back.

 

They move on.   
  
  
  


* * *

 

 

There is the endless dead space, and the darkness behind the door. Beyond that they’ve yet to discover anything else. Lydia feels as if she’s searching for something that has been buried long ago. 

“You’re looking for something,” he asks.

She supposes she is, though with every step she takes the answers behind her actions fade fast. 

“Is this all there is?”

He whips around to ogle at her.

“Hell no! Well...yes...um...not really.”

She gives a snort through her nose.

“Okay,” he says, stopping to shake out his hands and toss his hair from his eyes. “There was more. I’m kinda sure there was more. But everything is shrinking.”

“Shrinking?”

“There’s this,” he says, gesturing around the empty space. “And there’s the darkness behind the door.”

“And nothing else?”

He chews the pad of his thumb, eyebrows scrunched together. It’s a gesture that feels like home, though Lydia can’t fathom why that is.   
  
“There is something else…”

 

* * *

 

  
  


They tiptoe around the edge of the pit, a gaping black hole in the center of the dead space. 

“What is it?” 

“Sickness. I got it from my mother.”

They peer over the edge. He holds an arm across her middle, and when she looks at him he says, “So you don’t fall in.” 

It makes her stomach drop, the words creating a weightlessness in her bones.  
  
“What happens if I fall in,” she whispers.

“There’s no coming back out,” he whispers back. 

“Don’t you ever try to fill the hole?”

“It’s always been there. It keeps getting bigger. It swallowed up everything.”

  
  


 

 

They rest at the edge, legs dangling over the side to the darkness below.

“I wonder if anything can fill it,” Lydia says after some time.

“I’m not sure anything can.”

They sit.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

She turns to him. “I don’t know.”

He says something, but it’s too quiet. She leans in closer.  “What did you say?”

“...I did. I said, ‘I did.’” 

His face flushes with the words that fall from his lips.

“It’s been so lonely...Lydia.  _ Lydia Martin _ .”

It slams into her. Unyielding and bloodthirsty.

Stiles, Scott’s claws, his mind, his  _ mind _ ….the sickness.

She tries to choke it back, but it burns out of her throat.

“...Stiles?”

“You know me? I didn’t think you ever noticed me.”

She laughs, and it makes her vision blur.

“I notice you,” she nods, grinning wet and wide. “I notice you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The thing about nature, is that it requires balance. Lydia has often supposed it’s the reason why she was pulled to Stiles in the first place. She supposes it’s why she was ripped apart and left to die on a grassy field in a prom dress.   
  
The thing is, when she thinks about that night, she remembers nothing but the warmth from her blood melting into the lawn below her. She was given something, so she was required to give back. Even if she never asked for it. 

There is something greater in the universe at work. Something with enough force to give and take away. Something that made supernatural creatures crawl and breathe, and manifest into actual flesh and bone. Something that passed on an unknown talent down a family lineage in order to conserve and thrive and protect. Like archery. Or crossing the veil.  
  
Something that heard the cries of desperation from a small boy who had lost everything, only to fall in love. And somehow, impossibly, against all odds...given that love back tenfold in a million different ways, in different people.  
  
Lydia feels that. She feels that otherworldly presence every time she looks at him, and knows he is hers and she is his and it all unfolded this way because yes, they were made for each other. But even greater than that, they  _ want  _ each other. 

It was an equation that just made sense. 

 

“Take me to the closed door,” Lydia says.

  
  


* * *

 

 

 

Stiles worried his lip next to her, shuffling uncomfortably. Lydia tries to remain as composed as possible, for both of their sake. 

“Explain it to me again,” he whispers, and reaches out uncertainly to take her hand.

She wraps her fingers around his own and gives it a squeeze.

“What happened when the door was open?” 

“It consumed everything.”

“And what is the pit doing?”

“...Slowly swallowing everything.”

“And what do two negatives make?” Lydia asks, breathless now.

“...A positive.” 

They turn to look at the closed door, simple and unassuming. 

“Is this safe?” Stiles questions, and she’s now very aware of how his hand is trembling in the palm over her own. “It destroyed everything. It changed me. It...almost...took me whole.” 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “That’s why I’m going to ask.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stiles stands a distance away, pretending very hard not to look as white as a ghost. Lydia feels his anxiety radiate all around the dead space. Tangible waves of energy that relentlessly crash into her. 

She steps up to the door, and places her palm in the dead center.

“It’s me,” she murmurs.   
  
There is nothing.   
  
Lydia tries again to tap into that spiritual feeling that occasionally made itself known inside of her.

“It’s me,” she says again. “I know you’re there. I know you’re  _ not a door _ .” 

Something stirs quietly, only to settle once more into a nothing. 

What was she doing wrong? Why wasn’t she making contact with whatever was behind the door?

Lydia turns to look at Stiles, a question on her lips, but he’s staring at her with impossibly big eyes full of fear and wonder and everything that she had seen in him when he looked at her. It was a look so familiar she literally lost her breath. 

And then there it was. The feeling.

“Stiles,” she croaks, and beckons him forward.

He shuffles to her side, uncertain and jittery. Once again, she entwines her fingers with his. 

“Put your hand on the door?” 

He obeys, placing his palm flat onto the door next to her own palm. 

 

It roars to life.

 

Lydia feels the effervescence of that presence fill her like a open glass, bottom to top, until it threatens to spill right over. Stiles sucks in a breath next to her, clearly feeling it too. 

He has amplified her. 

“What is that?” He asks desperately.

It was  _ it _ . The something that took up space in her chest, that clawed her way out of her throat in a scream. That landed her in the lacrosse field, and weaved Scott McCall into her life and drew all of them to live around currents of energy that all lead to a part of nature with roots in the ground and blood in the soil. It was the everything and anything that made up Beacon Hills and it’s inhabitants and beyond.

 

It was what she felt when she looked at Stiles, because now she could finally understand what he felt all those years when he looked at her. 

 

 

“Nature requires balance,” she whispers to the door, eyes closed. “You give. You take.”

_ Adsum _ , the door breathed.  _ I am here _ .

“You took something from us.”

_Mortem_. Death.   
  
The death of a child. A life for a life. 

Lydia doesn’t know if Stiles can hear or understand the conversation that seems to echo in the space between them, but he is staring hard at the door, breath labored. 

It seems almost odd. They’re talking about the death of their child when they themselves are manifesting in Stiles' mind as children. 

“We will release you, and you will release Stiles.”

Stiles whips his head to stare incredulously at her. 

“You’re coming too, right?” He questions vehemently. 

Lydia nods resolutely. “Of course I am,” she lied. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

It would swallow the pit, and the pit would swallow it, and two negatives would equal a positive, and from nothing would come something. It would give a life, because it took a life, and it had yet to equal itself out.   
  
Lydia felt that imbalance an ocean away from him. She felt that tumbling sensation night after night, where everything was askew, begging to be righted. Everything was always take, take, take. Stiles’ affection, the baby, the sickness.  
  
Lydia was very much looking forward to be given. To be the one to give. To give it all. 

  
  
  
“Why are you crying?” Stiles asks, trembling violently.

“I’m overwhelmed,” she says thickly, but her cheeks hurt with the intensity of her smile. “I’m so happy.” 

__  
  
  
  
  
And what will become of me?  Lydia thought to the door. 

_ Fui quod es, eris quod sum. I once was what you are, you will be what I am.  _ __  
  
A nothing.

_ Et quis est qui vobis? And what is he to you?  _

Lydia turned to look at Stiles once more, and he met her gaze with the same intensity.

“Omnia.” 

He is everything. 

  
Lydia opened the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> redstringbanshee.tumblr.com xx


	20. Epilogue

 

**_a caelo usque ad centrum,_ ** from sky to center

**_a posse ad esse,_ ** from being able to being

**_ab inconvenienti,_ ** from an inconvenient thing

**_ab invito,_ ** unwillingly

 

**_a posteriori,_ ** from the latter

**_a priori,_ ** from the former

**_ab initio,_ ** from the beginning

**_ab extra,_ ** from beyond

 

**_ab antiquo,_ ** from the ancient

**_ab absurdo,_ ** from the absurd

**_ad lucem,_ ** to the light

**_ad mortem,_ ** to death

**_ab aeterno,_ ** from the eternal

 

**_ab hic,_ ** from here on

**_ab imo pectore,_ ** from the deepest chest

**_absolvo,_ ** I forgive you

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


The baby was crying again.  
  
Stiles warmed up the milk in the microwave, testing it against the back of his hand to make sure the temperature was correct before moving to take Scott’s baby out of his sleeping arms.

“Oh,” Scott murmured groggily, blinking awake. “Sorry dude, I got it.”

“Nah,” Stiles shook his head smiling. “I got it. You and Allison need all the beauty sleep you can get. Especially you. Yikes.”

Scott gave him a half hearted slap over the head.

 

 

Lydia watched it all with fond eyes.  It was a sight she would never take for granted. Her husband and their best friend’s newborn baby.    
  
And her, just drinking it all in. 

 

There was a time in her life she never believed she’d be able to witness it all. That she’d have to say goodbye, and feel her heart shatter endlessly over and over as the darkness swallowed them both in his mind.  
She thought it would be quick. Like falling asleep. Just being everything and then suddenly nothing, all at once.  
  
It doesn't make much sense, but as it turns out, being part of an emotional tether is much like a package deal. Two for one. Two halves of a whole. She has always been complete by herself. But she is whole with him.  
  
  
Or, as Deaton suspects, maybe it just wanted to give for once, after a lifetime of taking. Shake things up in Beacon Hills. Give it some good karma. 

 

Lydia guesses it’s all because of Stiles that she was put in this mess. It’s also because of Stiles that they both made it out alive. It’s also because of Stiles that her world is finally, completely righted.   
  
Lydia wonders if she’ll ever be able to wrap her head around why it turned out the way it did, or how lucky she is.

  
She has an entire lifetime to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it. We're done y'all.
> 
> This was the first Stydia fic I'd ever written. Kind of feels monumental to me, like the end of an era.
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for sticking through this with me. For your endless words of encouragement, for your fears and anxiety (my personal fuel hehehe), and for your dedication. Like Lydia, I don't know if I'll be able to really wrap my head around how lucky I am.
> 
>  
> 
> redstringbanshee.tumblr.com xx


End file.
